


Grey Crimson Skies

by turps



Series: Tints Verse [3]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 04:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/pseuds/turps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> Set in the same universe as <a href="http://turps33.livejournal.com/750403.html">Tints of Rainbow Hue</a>. This is a story about relationships, how they form and strengthen and how good friends can become family, the people that have your back, even on the most darkest of days.</p><p>Part Three of the Tints Verse series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grey Crimson Skies

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings/Spoilers:** Mentions of a past suicide attempt and detailed descriptions of ongoing struggles with serious depression.
> 
> I need to thank the people who listened to me talk about this story, often at length and over many emails. I especially want to thank themoononastick and sperrywink for their great betas. I've changed things since they saw this story, so any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.
> 
> Written for the rpf_big_bang challenge on Live Journal. The accompying cover art by Tortugax can be seen [here](http://turps33.livejournal.com/975757.html)

Bob's busy sorting his laundry when Frank opens the door and says, "I want to buy Mikey a gift."

"Did you knock? I didn't hear you knock," Bob says, and shakes a pair of jeans. Soil, and more worryingly, a blob of green slime falls to the floor and Bob eyes the brackish water that seeps across the lino. "We cleared the Johnson pond three days ago, how is that even still wet?"

"Magic?" Frank steps over the pile of clothes and slides to the ground, sitting so his back is against a cupboard door. He pokes at the pile of clothes with the toe of his sneaker. "Do you even own clothes that aren't denim or plaid?"

"Yes," Bob replies, and throws a damp sock at Frank in demonstration.

Frank peels it from his shoulder, holding it between finger and thumb. "Seriously, gross. What do you do, leave your laundry to fester for weeks?"

"Some of us don't get our clothes washed by our mom." Bob shoves the jeans into the washer and adds detergent, then crouches, peering at the dials. A year he's been in this apartment and still he can never remember what settings he needs.

Frank twists onto his knees and crawls forward. "I'd use setting six."

"Like you'd know." Bob turns the dial to six and stands. He takes two cans of soda from the fridge and hands one to Frank, who's still kneeling on the floor, the red streak in his hair blazing like the sun as he watches the drum fill with water. "It's my half-day off."

Frank looks up. "I know, mine too."

"No, it's a school day for you," Bob points out. He looks at the bag by the front door and the ink stains on Frank's fingers. "In fact, shouldn't you be off learning about flowers right now?"

"It's my lunch hour."

Bob cracks open his soda and sits on the floor because talking to Frank when he's sitting at Bob's feet feels all kinds of wrong. "And you decided to come here?"

Frank nods. "I need advice."

"Right," Bob says, steeling himself because from past conversations that could be anything from mental health issues to the cheapest place to buy lube. Still, Bob consoles himself if Frank's only got an hour it can't be anything _that_ bad. "You couldn't ask Ray?"

"He's busy."

Bob nods and takes a drink. Between evening classes and work Ray's always busy. The fact he gets any off time at all is miraculous. "Okay, fine. Spill."

Frank nods and gnaws at his thumb-nail. "Like I said, I want to get Mikey a gift, but it has to be special."

"Unlike all the other gifts you get him," Bob says, and tries his hardest not to laugh when Frank looks at him, all big eyes and hurt expression.

"It's not the same, the flowers are a thing, this gift has to be different."

"Because?" Bob prompts, and doesn't even roll his eyes when Frank just beams.

"Because it'll be nine months and four days since our first date. That's important."

Bob debates the wisdom of asking why. On one hand, potentially scarring explanation when Frank actually tells. On the other. Frank and Mikey are fucking sweet, not that Bob will ever admit that out loud. In the end Bob has to ask, he's too nice for his own good at times. "Wouldn't a year be more significant?"

The knees of Frank's jeans are more holes than fabric and he picks at the threads, wrapping them around his fingers until the tips go white. "I guess. It's just. It's a long time you know? And Mikey's kinda having a hard time lately."

"He looked okay last time I saw him." Bob can't help feeling concerned, he's at the Way house most nights but mostly talks to Gerard and Mikey's a hard read. Still, Bob likes to think he'd have noticed if things were going wrong.

"He always looks fine," Frank says, and flips Bob off when he pretend gags. "It's not like, something serious, like bad times level serious, just Gee trying to be a big brother."

"And that's a problem?" Bob asks, even though he suspects he knows where this is going.

"Mostly Mikey eats that shit up, it's Gerard you know?" Frank pulls at another thread, a line unraveling across a purple flower painted to the side of his knee. "He just. I shouldn't even be telling you this."

"How about we skip the shouldn't bullshit and get on with it." Bob takes a drink and sets his soda can on the floor.

"Yeah, right," Frank says. "It's just. Gerard's doing the big brother thing, and that's great, but Mikey's not used to it. It's like, he held things together for so long and now he doesn't have to and it's all. Weird."

Which yeah, weird, Bob thinks. It's the default description for the Ways. "Gerard's trying."

"I know, _Mikey_ knows," Frank says. "It's still weird and he'll deal, just, I thought a present would be nice."

The washing machine whirs as Frank gives up on picking apart his jeans and cracks open his soda. Bob takes another drink. "You could buy him clothes. Baby Gap is having a sale. Or make-up, every girl needs more eye-liner," Bob says, enjoying the way Frank bristles. "Or a brush, I'm sure he used one once."

"Fuck you." Frank kicks out, catching Bob's shin with the toe of his sneaker. "If you're not going to help..."

"Picky," Bob says with a grin. "Face it. You could get him one of those hand cream sample things and he'd be pleased."

"But..."Frank says, then stops and starts to smile, all toothy grin and sparking eyes. "That's an _amazing_ idea."

"What is?" Bob asks, confused.

"A sex kit," Frank says, each word emphasized by a swipe of his hands in the air. "You're a genius."

"I never mentioned sex!" Bob protests.

Frank stands in one easy movement. "I'll get lotion, some of that unscented shit. Or wait, chocolate body paint, that would be better and matching condoms, maybe some toys, we haven't tried stuff like that yet but we could. Do you think he'd go for beads? Or I could splurge on a vibrator."

Bob stands too, slower than Frank but still fast, because seriously, Bob doesn't want to hear this shit. He grabs hold of Frank's shoulders and propels him toward the door. "Out! I don't want to hear about your sex life."

"Going." Frank's still smiling as he grabs his bag and twists in Bob's grip, hugging him hard. "Thanks for the idea, I'll tell Mikey you suggested it."

Frank leaves the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

~*~*~*~

Gerard sits on the steps and rubs at his eyes. He runs his hands through his hair and looks through the bag between his feet, rummaging through the contents, pens and books and half a stale sandwich, the saron wrap surrounding it greasy and shredded at one side. His cigarettes are at the very bottom and he takes one out, holding it between two fingers as he lights up and takes a long drag. He shouldn't really smoke here, it's too close to the entrance of the building and he's in the way of the people who come walking by -- their eyes averted like if they don't see Gerard he doesn't see them in return.

Tapping ash to the ground, Gerard runs his fingers over the rough stone of the steps. He always feels disconnected after these sessions, his emotions still raw. Often he thinks it should be better by now, it's been months and while he can feel an improvement, there are too many days when all he does is deal; and sometimes not even that. Gerard wants to live, and right now that's not happening.

A last drag and Gerard stubs the cigarette on the wall, throwing the butt with all the others that lie on the ground. He stands and loops his bag over his head, takes the last few steps down to the sidewalk and starts to walk. He's got time to call in the supermarket, pick up something for dinner that's not pop-tarts or out of the freezer. He can buy vegetables, maybe some chicken, have something ready for Mikey when he comes home.

Pleased with that plan, Gerard lists what he needs. Groceries then home. Wash the breakfast dishes and put away the shopping. Make a simple meal. Easy things that take little effort at all. Except, when he approaches the supermarket it's busy. Full of people pushing carts piled with food, laughing and talking as they move. The entrance is bright and there's an older woman standing greeting people as they walk by. She's smiling, the name tag on her uniform says _Joyce_ and she's got dark hair sprinkled with grey. She's not threatening at all. None of this is, but Gerard slows and comes to a stop.

The thought of dealing is suddenly too much. Having to select food, talk to people and interact. He can feel his heart speeding up and his mouth is dry. He takes a gulp of air and tells himself he can do this. He can deal. The problem is. Gerard can't, not today. He turns, almost running as he heads for home.

~~~~

There's an overwhelming sense of relief when Gerard reaches home. He passes the unicorn, automatically looking for notes, but there's nothing today and he pulls his keys out of his pocket, his hands trembling and his leg brushes against the lavender that's in the giant yellow pot. The air fills with heavy scent and Gerard draws in a deep breath as he pushes open the door and steps inside, slamming it behind him. Shielded from the world his heart-beat slows and he lets his bag slip to the floor with a thump.

On the kitchen table there are two plates and a mug, another sitting in the sink. Gerard sits and pushes the plates aside, taking a small book out of the inner pocket of his jacket. The corners are fuzzy with wear, the picture on the cover blurred and he grabs a pen, chewing on the end as he thinks. He didn't go to the supermarket, but he did attend another therapy session. The breakfast dishes are unwashed, but he took his medication. Gerard writes it all down, adds more negatives and positives to his lists as he tries to push back the feeling that he failed, because he didn't, not completely. So why does it feel like he did?

Frustrated with himself, Gerard starts to draw, a tiny dragon perched on the negative list, snorting black fire that surround the _I didn't's_ and _I should have's_, until they're nothing but lines concealed in flames.

Dropping the pen, Gerard stands, determined to regain a little ground. Gathering up the mug and plates he stacks them in the sink and fills it with hot water and a squirt of detergent, causing a tiny bubble to float upward. It lands on the glossy green leaf of the plant that's on the windowsill, the one that continues to grow in the pot Frank decorated with dancing skeletons, so many months before.

When the sink is half full, Gerard turns off the faucet and picks up the sponge. It's slightly damp and the rough side scrapes across his palm as he rubs at the plates and mugs, taking care to ensure they're clean. Stacking them on the drainer Gerard watches the suds slide down the slick surfaces, pooling into filmed puddles that reflect the light. Reds and blues and yellows, shimmering in the late afternoon sun like his own personal rainbow that momentarily forces itself through the grey that's become the constant of his life.

Caught by the movement of colors, Gerard's tempted to draw. Most of his materials are downstairs, but he knows if he goes down there he won't come back up, not today when he's already so tired and defeat is lying heavy. Quickly, before he changes his mind and loses this burst of color, he grabs the small sketch book that he left abandoned in the living room. It's old and the paper feels dusty under his fingers as he gathers pens and jumps up on the kitchen counter, bringing up his legs. He sits cross-legged, the sketch book in his lap, and it's not a comfortable position at all. There's something digging into Gerard's back and his knee is pressed against the window ledge, his elbow keeps knocking against the wall, but he's also sitting in a patch of sunshine, almost too warm as he attempts to capture the colors of the puddle.

It's difficult with the limited amount of pens he has at hand, but he tries anyway, sketching a hand reaching from a lake, each finger a different shade, grasping at the sun so high overhead. Ripples mar the smooth water at various points and he adds in vague shadows, a face trapped under the surface, the mouth wide. Shading in the eye, Gerard looks up when the door opens, and Mikey steps inside.

"Hey," Mikey says. He's dressed in his work clothes, still casual but his hair's not as wild as it can be and his face is washed clean. Taking out his ear buds he wraps the cord around his iPod and tucks it carefully away, then take off his messenger bag, hanging it on one of the kitchen chairs. "How was your appointment?"

Gerard runs his nail over the ragged end of the pen. Mikey always assumes Gerard will go to his appointments, even despite the times he couldn't leave the house at all. It's an expression of faith that's scary as much as it is gratifying. It's also something Gerard uses to get through the day. "It went okay, we talked, the usual shit. I was going to get stuff for dinner."

"Yeah?"

"I got as far as the supermarket." Gerard thinks about his excuses, how busy it was and how it seemed too much. They all seem pathetic now. "I came home."

"It's okay," Mikey says softly. He starts to make coffee, adding a new filter and beans then picks up the jug and empties the dregs of old coffee into the sink. His hip is pressed against Gerard's foot and this close Gerard can see how Mikey looks tired, the skin under his eyes looking bruised. "I'll make spaghetti for dinner." Mikey rinses out the jug with water then looks at Gerard's drawing, giving it all his attention as he exams the page. "I like it, the different shades of grey add to the creepiness."

"Thanks." Gerard looks at the clock on the wall. working out the hours before bed. If he could he'd go now. He slides off the counter and puts the sketch book on the table. "Want help with dinner?"

"You can make the sauce," Mikey says, as if that involves something more complex than opening a jar.

It's nice making dinner together. Gerard empties a jar of ready-made sauce in the pan, occasionally stirring as Mikey boils water and adds long strands of spaghetti which he pokes at with a spoon, causing pieces to snap off and fly through the air. One hits Mikey's nose and he looks so shocked, his mouth opening into an o of surprise that Gerard can't help laughing. Something that makes Mikey grin down at the bubbling water, ignoring how it causes his glasses to be covered with steam.

Gerard gives the sauce another stir. "Are you going out tonight?"

"Yeah." Mikey takes off his glasses and rubs them on the hem of his shirt. "There's a band I need to check out."

"Right," Gerard says, and dips his little finger in the sauce, testing for heat. "You'll be home late, then?"

Mikey uses the spoon to ease the softening spaghetti into the water, his smile fading. "No later than usual."

"You shouldn't...it's the third night this week," Gerard says.

Mikey shrugs. "We need the money."

Which is true. Gerard's seen Mikey make money stretch, but it only goes so far, which means overtime and more work. "I told you, I'll cut back on the therapy sessions and change...."

"No!" Vehement, Mikey cuts Gerard off. "It's taken months to find a combination that's starting to work, you're not changing a thing." He reaches for two plates, setting them down on the counter and picks up the pan of spaghetti which he drains into the sink, his back to Gerard. "You'll be accepted for disability soon, you have to be."

Gerard isn't that sure, already the process has dragged on for months, but he keeps that thought hidden, says, "Just. Be careful coming back."

Mikey tenses, his shoulders pulling in, says, "I always am."

~*~*~*~

"I'm thinking about taking on someone else."

Bob shades his eyes with one hand, looking up at Ray who's carefully trimming the edges of the lawn. Grass clipping are stuck to the front of his legs and his t-shirt clings to his body, under his arms, back and chest. "Full time?"

Ray shakes his head. "Part time at first, but if we get someone I can expand, do the jobs we can't take on right now."

"It makes sense, especially with Frank working fewer hours."

"Yeah," Ray says, frowning. He wipes at his face with the back of his hand, but still manages to leave a smear of green over his cheek bone. "It's not like I'm giving away his job."

"I know." Bob sits back on his heels and wipes his soil-covered hands on his thighs. "He'll know that too."

"I was thinking about advertising this week, get someone before the summer seasons starts in earnest."

Bob grimaces because even if it's not officially summer, it's fucking hot. "I think you're too late for that."

Ray grins and puts down the clippers. "Come on, Mrs. Martin left us lemonade."

"And you're just telling?"

"You had two hundred seedlings to plant, I didn't want to interrupt your groove."

"My groove? Right." Bob stands, his legs twinging from being straightened after kneeling so long. "It's not so you could drink it all yourself."

Ray shakes his head, the picture of innocence. "Would I do that?"

The answer to that is no, Bob still says, "In an instant."

Bob loves Mrs. Martin. Along with the lemonade she's left a plate of cookies, covered over with a plastic lid and Bob brushes off his shorts as he approaches the iron table and chairs. When he sits the metal is cool, the chair shaded by a large blue umbrella. He reaches out and takes hold of the pitcher of lemonade, the glass cold and damp with condensation. Ice cubes rattle as Bob fills two glasses, handing one to Ray before taking a long drink.

"I want to marry Mrs. Martin."

"I think Mr. Martin will have something to say about that," Ray says, and takes a drink, draining half the glass. He sets it down and takes the lid of the cookies, his mouth curling into a smile as he looks at Bob. "And Gerard."

"I don't know what you mean," Bob mutters, and grabs a cookie, taking a large bite.

Ray sits forward, his forearms against the table, there's a shallow scratch going from his elbow to wrist and his fingernails are black with dirt. "You see him every day."

"I see Mikey too," Bob points out, he finishes the cookie and takes another, holding it in his hand.

"Didn't you say you barely see Mikey lately?"

Bob scowls, cursing bosses-come-friends that actually listen to what he says. "The fucker's always working." It's one of the reasons Bob spends so much time at the Ways, he hates the idea of Gerard being alone, and even if it means some evenings Bob does nothing but sit next to Gerard not talking, well that's fine.

Ray looks concerned. "Is Gerard okay with that?"

"Not really," Bob says, remembering finding Gerard in the kitchen, looking solemn as he read through the book Mikey uses for accounts. "But he'll have to deal, it's the only way they're getting money."

Ray looks past a point on Bob's shoulder, his brows pulled together in a crease. "I've got ...."

"No," Bob cuts in, knowing where Ray's going with this. "They wouldn't accept money from you, they know you've been saving for a new trailer."

"But if they need it."

"They do," Bob says, and if I thought they'd take it I'd empty my fucking bank account for them, but they wouldn't." It's why Bob helps out in other ways, casually putting left over groceries in their fridge and ensuring they've got _something_ to eat at least, even if that's frozen meals and pop tarts.

Ray sighs, says, "I haven't been over for a few days, I think I'll go over tonight. The grass will need cutting anyway."

Bob drains his lemonade and pours out another. "I'll come with you."

~*~*~*~

Gerard looks at the clock on the wall, watching the second hand tick around. As soon as it's exactly three he puts the pill in his mouth and drinks a full glass of water then puts the empty glass in the sink. Each time he does this he expects some kind of reaction, which is stupid he knows, because it doesn't work like that. There's no magical cure, but he can't help hoping that one day he'll swallow his pill and begin to feel happy. It hasn't happened yet, all Gerard feels is numb.

Tired, he leans back and accidentally knocks over a mug that spills cold coffee over the counter top, it pools then drips toward the floor. Grabbing a cloth Gerard drops it on the spill and thinks about cleaning it up, but if he does that it means moving the dirty dishes and wiping down surfaces and it all seems too much. Gerard looks at the clock, two minutes past three, Mikey won't be home for hours yet, which leaves plenty of time for a nap.

Pushing himself upright, Gerard makes for the basement. He feels lethargic and heavy and he grips the banister tightly as he carefully walks downstairs. At the bottom there's a pile of laundry, gathered during a burst of energy that petered out almost as soon as it began. The clothes spill out in waves of black and occasional colors, jeans lying against the sheets that have slid from Gerard's bed and the trash and cigarette butts that somehow never reach the garbage. Looking at the mess is all kinds of intimidating and Gerard's heading for his bed when he stops, remembering how his therapist tells him to break things down, that he doesn't have to do it all.

It makes sense when they talk, but each time Gerard tries, he ends up bargaining with himself, a nap for ten minutes work, a mug of coffee for washing the dishes, and he can't help feeling it shouldn't be that way, that normal people don't need bribes to survive.

Determined he'll do _something_ today, Gerard bends and gathers up an armful of clothes that he drops in the machine along with an estimated capful of detergent. Shutting the lid, Gerard leans in close as he turns the dial, then waits, listening for his cue for bed. He gets it when the machine begins to whir, and within seconds is lying on top of his sheet-less bed, too tired to even kick off his shoes.

He lies still, looking up at the ceiling, grey paint and cobwebbed corners. Gerard closes his eyes.

When he wakes the basement is quiet and when he looks toward the small window he sees that the sunlight is softer, suggesting some time has passed. Pushing himself upright Gerard winces at the throbbing behind his eyes and swallows against the dryness in his mouth, then tilts his head to one side, listening when he hears a thump from upstairs. Gerard stands and walks to the bottom of the stairs, "Mikey?"

"He's not back yet." Bob appears in the doorway and starts to walk down. He's wearing his work clothes and his knees are black with dirt, his boots off exposing his striped socks, one with a hole at the toe. When he reaches the bottom Bob steps over the mound of dirty laundry and looks at the washing machine before pulling open the lid. "I'll help you carry these up. Hands out."

Automatically Gerard holds out his arms and Bob hands over a bundle of wet clothes. They feel cold and damp and Gerard cradles them close to his chest, waiting as Bob digs out a last stray sock before closing the lid. He drops the sock onto the pile Gerard's carrying, and then goes up stairs, Gerard following him up, then through the kitchen to outside. It's still hot outside and the smell of cut grass combines with the scent of detergent as Gerard steps onto the sun-warm paving slabs. Looking over the top of the pile he's surprised to see Ray mowing the lawn, while Frank sits on the porch, his arm around the unicorn as he watches, a pile of books at his side and a notebook open on his lap.

"Gerard, hi." Ray shuts off the mower, draping the cord over the handle. "You've got good timing, I've just finished."

Frank waves a greeting and pulls a page out of his book, tucking it under the unicorn. "I'll give you a hand hanging those up."

"Thanks," Gerard says, and eyes the paper that sticks out from under the unicorn's hoof, making sure it's adequately weighted down. The last things he wants is a repeat of the time Mrs. Henson from next door found a frankly pornographic poem addressed to Mikey in her back garden.

"Sure you can reach the line?" Bob asks Frank, and nudges Gerard toward the washing line that stretches over the newly cut lawn.

Frank grabs a pair of jeans, pegging them up at the waist. "Fuck off."

"And no fondling Mikey's clothes," Bob continues, taking a sock from the pile.

"Why would I do that when they don't have Mikey inside?" Frank grins, so wide and bright that Gerard steps a little closer, feeling a second-hand happiness that's as warm as the sun.

"I swear to god, one fucking word." Bob brandishes a peg at Frank, poking him in the chest. "One word about your sex life and I'll end you."

"With a peg?" Frank raises an eyebrow and ducks behind Gerard. "What are you going to do? Kill me five ways with a clothes peg?"

"Ten ways," Bob growls, and reaches for Frank, but Frank's already running, laughing as he dodges past Ray, keeping out of the way as Bob gives chase.

"One day they're going to kill each other, then I'll need three new workers." Ray wipes his hands on his t-shirt and starts to peg out the remaining clothes. "It bad enough finding one person never mind three."

"You're taking on someone new?" Gerard remembers Bob mentioning their ever increasing workload, but he can't remember any talk of taking on staff, not that it means much. Details are one of the first things to be lost to the grey.

"I'm trying," Ray says, he sighs, hanging up a faded t-shirt Gerard last wore months before. "But apparently people don't want a part time job with no benefits."

Gerard scowls, "Fucking benefits."

"I know." Ray's mouth is turned down and his brow furrowed as he starts on the last armful of black socks. "I'd offer them if I could, but I just haven't got the cash to support it."

"I wasn't getting at you, sorry," Gerard says, because that's the last thing he meant, he knows how well Ray looks after his staff but benefits have haunted Gerard for months now, between the time Mikey's spent trying to sort out Gerard's and the fact it's led to Mikey refusing to take out insurance due to their lack of money. Just thinking of them makes Gerard want to lie down.

"I know." Ray pegs up the last sock and looks behind him, watching as Bob grabs onto Frank, one hand holding the straps of his overalls, the other holding the back of Frank's head, keeping his face inches above the water in the dragon bird-bath as he threatens to duck him in. "My staff, let me show you them."

There's a splash and Gerard sees that Bob's ducked Frank's head in the water, holding him there for an instant before allowing him back up. "Should you rescue him?"

"And spoil their fun?" Ray grins as Frank manages to scoop up two handfuls of water, flinging them at Bob. "They're blowing off steam, and while they're doing that we can order pizza."

"Erm," Gerard says and doesn't know how to say there's no way he can afford that. "How about pop tarts instead?"

"Pizza, my treat," Ray says, and heads toward inside, indicating that Gerard should follow.

He does and when he gets in the kitchen Ray's already on the phone, leaning against the fridge as he orders. Listening to the rise and fall of his voice, Gerard starts to clear up a little, washing out the mugs and placing them on the drainer. Occasionally there's a shriek from the garden, and once Frank runs inside, laughing, his feet pounding against the floor as he skids, turns, and goes right back outside.

"I didn't know if you had soda so I ordered some, too." Gerard jumps when he hears Ray, who's moved so he's standing close. "Sorry."

"I was miles away," Gerard says and turns on the cold tap, washing the bubbles off his hands.

"I can see." Ray takes a step back, looking solid and sun-kissed, his hair pulled back off his face. "How are you doing?"

It's something Gerard gets asked a lot, and he never has a good answer. He wants to say that he's feeling better, because it's the truth, compared with before he is. But at the same time, Gerard's better still isn't good, and there's no good way to explain that his world remains muted, blanketed by shades of grey. It's all kinds of frustrating because no matter how much he tries, Gerard feels trapped, colors and emotions just out of his reach.

"I'm okay." Gerard's hesitated too long and he can see the sympathy in Ray's expression, the way he's searching for the right thing to say. Impulsively, needing Ray to think of anything but how pathetic Gerard actually is, he says, "I'm thinking of moving out of the basement."

"Yeah?" Ray says. "You're thinking of moving up next to Mikey?"

"Maybe." Truthfully Gerard hasn't given it much actual thought. Apart from the vague idea that it's one of the things he should do, because people his age don't live in basements, especially when there are perfectly good bedrooms upstairs. "Or in my parent's old room, I don't know if I want to share a wall."

"I don't blame you." Ray shudders, looking pained. "That time I found them in the back of the van, the poor plants, the yew tree was never the same."

"Oh my god, Ray," Frank hisses, appearing in the doorway looking hot and sweaty, a strand of blue hair sticking to his forehead. "Don't talk about my sex life with Mikey's _brother_."

"Serves you fucking right," Bob says, pushing his way past Frank. "Now you know how I feel."

Frank frowns. "You're not related to me, and anyway, I tell you that shit so you don't forget what sex is. I'm doing you a favor."

"No, you tell me that shit because you're a little fucker who doesn't know when to shut up," Bob says, and fills a glass with cold water before taking a long drink. "And, I don't need reminding what sex is."

"Sex with your own hand doesn't count." Frank says, taking a step back so he's out of reach of a swipe from Bob's hand. "I mean two people sex, the hot and heavy kind, you know, with the fucking and the sucking and..." Frank abruptly stops talking, flushing red as he turns to Gerard. "Not that I do that with Mikey of course."

"So you're fucking and sucking someone not Mikey," Bob says, an evil glint in his eyes. "Admitting that here doesn't seem like a good idea."

"What? No! It's Mikey, it's always Mikey. I wouldn't think of..." Frank rests his hand on Gerard's arm, looking earnest. "I only fuck Mikey, promise."

Gerard wonders how he's supposed to reply. Nothing seems right and he pats Frank's hand awkwardly, says, "As long as you're being careful."

"Jesus fuck," Frank mutters, going bright red as he glares over at Bob. "I hate you."

"You know you love me," Bob says, and extracts Gerard from Frank's grasp. "I'll help you sort the rest of the laundry while these idiots tidy up outside."

"It's fucking gross," Gerard warns, but all Bob does is shrug.

"Last week I dug in a fuck load of manure, it can't be worse."

Privately Gerard can't be so sure, but Bob's already disappearing downstairs and Ray's tugging Frank outside, leaving Gerard alone. Momentarily he debates just staying in the kitchen, but he can hear Bob moving around, and goes to the stairs, seeing that Bob's sitting on the bottom step, his feet on top of the pile of dirty clothes.

"Are you sure all these are yours?" Bob tilts back his head and looks up at Gerard. "Because I never pegged you as a leather man."

"I'm not." Gerard keeps his hand against the wall as he makes his way to the bottom, edging past Bob and sliding down to the ground, uncaring of the mess. "I think they belonged to a friend of Mikey's."

Bob holds up the pair of black leather pants, the sides held together by lace. "Does Mikey still see this friend?"

Truthfully Gerard's not sure who Mikey sees when he's out, but it's been years since he's brought anyone but Frank back to the house. "Not that I know of."

"They're going in the trash, then," Bob says, and shoves the pants to one side before toeing at the heap. "I'd say sort out the darks but there's nothing but darks. Grab any jeans you see."

Leading by example, Bob pulls free a pair of Mikey's jeans, checking the pockets and un-threading a thin studded belt before throwing them into the machine. Looping the belt over the banister, he finds a pair of Gerard's next, the hems ragged and the knees almost threadbare. Checking the pockets, he takes out a crumpled wad of tissue and drops it to the floor, then throws them so they drop into the drum.

At Bob's look, Gerard starts to sort through the laundry at his feet, pushing aside t-shirts that are stiff with sweat and some clothes he can't ever remember wearing. He's moving a crispy sock when he looks at Bob and says, "Why are you doing this?"

Bob shrugs and doesn't look at Gerard, just keeps rummaging through the clothes. "It's what friends do."

Which may be true in Bob's world, but apart from Bob, Ray and Frank, Gerard's friends are all long gone, including the ones that did try to keep in contact at first. Even when they did visit, none of them acted like this, doing jobs that should be Gerard's alone. "You could be out having fun."

"You say that like I'm not having fun now," Bob says, and uses his finger and thumb to display a pair of boxers. "How else would I know you wear superman underwear?"

Gerard runs his hand through his hair. "They could be Mikey's."

"Mikey's too skinny to wear these." Bob grins and drops them back on the pile. "Admit it, they're yours."

"Superman is awesome," Gerard says, and throws a t-shirt on top of the boxers.

"Never said otherwise." Bob stands and gathers four more pairs of jeans, checking them all before dropping them into the machine. "That's enough for now. They can wash while we eat."

Gerard clambers to his feet. "Thank you."

"It's not me buying the pizza," Bob says and starts to walk upstairs. Gerard doesn't correct him, he knows Bob gets what he means.

When Gerard reaches the kitchen he sees the counter is crowded with five pizza boxes, three bottles of soda and a paper bag, grease already seeping through the side. Ray's reaching up for glasses while Frank rummages in a cupboard, emerging with a roll of paper towels.

"Do you want to eat in here or in the living room?" Ray asks, the glasses safely clutched against his chest.

Bob looks at his watch and goes to pick up the pizza boxes. "Myth Busters will be on."

"Living room it is, then," Ray says, but when he goes for the soda he's held back by Frank, who pushes between Ray and Bob and stands guard in front of the food.

"Back off, savages. I'm going to fix Mikey a plate first."

"Are you going to warm his slippers and have them ready by the door when he comes in, too?" Bob asks sweetly and Frank glares back as he grabs a plate and starts opening boxes.

"Fuck off, if I let you all loose on this there'll be nothing left for him." He takes a slice from each pie, building a pizza mountain on the plate, then adds two cheese sticks and a handful of chicken wings."

"He'll never eat all of that," Gerard says, slightly bemused by the sheer amount of food that's laid out in his kitchen. Frank raises one shoulder and puts the plate in the fridge.

"So he'll have leftovers."

"For a week," Gerard says and makes a grab for the paper towels when Bob throws them his way.

"Hurry up, it'll be starting soon."

Ray grins as he picks up the pizza boxes. "We're coming, we'd hate for you to miss a minute of your precious Jamie."

"I watch for the experiments," Bob says, and places his hand at the small of Gerard's back, urging him forward.

Frank darts past, a bottle under each arm. "Sure you do. That's why you have an autographed Jamie picture in your bedroom."

"You've been in my bedroom?" Bob growls slightly under his breath, and Frank looks back over his shoulder, already giggling as he dives onto the easy chair.

"Would I do that?"

"In an instant you little shit, Bob says, and takes a seat on the sofa, Gerard sitting next to him.

Ray puts the pizza boxes on the coffee table, looks at them all and smiles, says, "Shall I be mother?"

~*~*~*~

"I'm going to decline the Hammond job," Ray says, grunting under his breath as he hauls a large sack of pea shale into the back of the van.

"I thought you'd already talked plans?" Surprised, Bob picks up a pot containing a vibrant purple clematis. The leaves brush against his face as he carefully sets it in the van, next to the tools and mower but with plenty of space for the trays of bedding plants that are still stacked on the flat bed trolley.

"I have." Ray brushes at the front of his t-shirt, then picks up a tray of marigolds, some of them already blooming bright orange. "It's too big a job for two, even if Frank does put in a few hours after school."

"I could come in earlier," Bob says, hating how defeated Ray looks as he methodically stacks the trays of plants, treating each one with deliberate gentle care. "Stay late, too."

Ray shakes his head. "I appreciate the offer, but you're already working seven days this week, you need some time off."

"Like you take so much," Bob points out, and the fact is, he doesn't mind working so hard. He'd do anything for Ray and he loves his job, if that means early mornings and late nights, that's exactly what Bob will do.

"It's my company, I have to put in the hours," Ray says, and stacks the last tray. Closing the doors of the van he makes sure they're locked and then sits on the side of the cart, head resting on his hands and sliding a little as the cart tips to one side. "And it's not like anyone wants to work for me, two weeks and no applications, that has to be some kind of record."

Bob sits next to Ray, making the cart see-saw before settling mostly level. The wood he's sitting on is damp from the plants and the metal edges are sun warm against his bare legs. "Someone could still apply."

"I doubt it, part-time hours and no benefits aren't very enticing."

"I joined for that," Bob says, digging Ray in the side with his elbow.

"You're obviously some kind of masochist." Finally, Ray smiles a little, shading his eyes as he looks at Bob. "Also, you came in at full-time."

Which is true, but Bob was so desperate back then he would have joined for any hours, and he knows that goes for other people, too. It's why he says, "I have a friend."

"Yeah," Ray says, sounding interested. "I'm hoping this is leading to a friend that's a master gardener who needs work."

"Sort of," Bob says, ignoring the way Ray's face falls. "He's never really done any gardening, but he needs a job and I know he's a hard worker."

"When you say he's never really done any gardening, you mean what?" Ray asks, sounding suspicious.

"He's bagged his own vegetables at the supermarket." Bob knows he needs to be totally honest, Ray'll give Brian a chance or he won't, Bob's not about to lie. "I wouldn't mention him, but he's desperate."

"And so I am," Rays says quietly. He looks toward the garden center, where the manager is hovering near the exit while glaring in their direction. "How do you know him?"

It's a question Bob expected, but he still hesitates a moment, then says, "I met him back home, at my anger management group."

"Right." Ray keeps looking forward, his brow creased into lines. Eventually he turns to Bob. "You say he's a good guy."

"He is," Bob says, and puts his arms behind him, hands braced against the wood as he leans back, head tilted toward the sun.

"And he won't mind doing grunt work and learning on the job?"

"He's a quick learner and a strong fucker."

Ray nods slightly. "Tell him I'm prepared to take him on trial for a fortnight."

"Great," Bob says, pleased that he can help out two friends this way. Patting his pocket, he goes to pull out his phone, but remembers it's still in the van, left there from the Richardson job. "I'll call him when we get back to the van. He's in Chicago right now so I'll need to make arrangements."

"That's your home town, yeah?" Ray says. "You don't talk much about before."

Bob turns his head so he can see Ray. He looks hesitant, as if this is something he shouldn't be mentioning, but he's got no need. Bob's not keeping secrets, it's just, he's moved on and it's not a time he needs to revisit. "There's nothing to talk about. I used to live there, and now I live here."

"Do your parents live there? That's if you have parents," Ray asks.

"I wasn't found under a cabbage, of course I have parents," Bob says, and Ray has his mouth open, obviously ready to make some joke when Bob continues, "At least I did, mom's still at home but dad took off somewhere."

"Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"There's no reason you should," Bob says, brushing off the apology. He sits up straight then, rubbing his hands together to dislodge any clinging soil before he stands. "We'd better get on. I need to phone Brian before we go to the Mason's."

"A thousand marigolds to plant, wonderful." Ray stands and grabs hold of the cart, starting to push it back to the coral. "My back's already protesting." He stops then, looking over at Bob. "Which reminds me, I counted twelve hundred marigold plants and I know I only paid for a thousand."

Bob shrugs. "Guess they weren't counting very well."

"Right," Ray says, sounding sceptical. "I suppose the spares will be going to the Way's?"

"It would be stupid letting them go to waste."

A hard push and Ray shoves the cart with the others, then goes to join Bob, both of them looking at the garden center manager who's angrily sweeping the ground outside of the entrance to the store. "One day you'll tell me what you've got on him."

Bob smiles and gets in the van.

~*~*~*~

"You sure you want to do this?" Mikey asks. "If you wait until the weekend I can help."

Mikey's dressed for work and is draining the last of his mug of coffee, his messenger bag slung across his body as he stands close to the door. Picking up a slice of toast, Gerard pointedly holds it out until Mikey takes it with a roll of his eyes. "I'm positive, I'll get a start cleaning out the room and then I'll paint later this week."

"Awesome," Mikey says and his whole body seems to loosen somehow, which is reassurance enough that Gerard's doing the right thing. "Don't work too hard."

A wave of his hand and Mikey's gone, leaving Gerard alone. He looks around and gathers up the breakfast dishes, setting them in the sink before heading for the stairs. It's been a while since Gerard's been on this floor and he takes in how dusty everything is, the wallpaper dingy and the wood of the baseboards furred and dented in places. There's a poster of Blur tacked to the door of Mikey's room and Gerard can't resist looking inside. He steps through the doorway and takes in the unmade bed and piles of CDs that are arranged near the stereo, the clothes over the back of a chair and the shelves full of action figures Gerard remembers from years before. The only unexpected thing is the window sill, where there are a line of plants -- pansies Gerard thinks, each one in a vibrantly colored pot, a splash of color in the mostly dark room.

Gerard walks close to the window and looks at the plants, and notices a strip of photograph tucked between the orange spotted pot and the one with red and blue stripes. Picking it up he sees that it's the kind you get out of a photo booth, Mikey and Frank pulling a series of insane faces and the last one catching them in a closed-mouth kiss. For the first time in forever, Gerard genuinely smiles. Which has to be a sign, that today he can see those colors and feel those emotions, he runs his fingers over the row of pots and over the delicate petals of the pansies, things that are so vibrantly alive in a house that mostly seems dead.

Bringing his hand to his face, Gerard smells earth and the hint of sunshine, a scent that stays with him as he leaves Mikey's room and into his parent's. In there nothing has chanced since they left. Discarded clothes still lie abandoned on the bed and the curtains are pulled shut. When Gerard touches them dust explodes into the room and he sneezes as he opens the window, letting in the fresh air.

Unsure where to start, Gerard turns in a circle, cataloging everything that needs to go. Miraculously he feels good today, the combination of pills and therapy finally working and he's glad he didn't tell anyone how he'd really felt, knowing that eventually things would change -- and they have. Gerard knows they have.

Gathering up an armful of his mom's old clothes, Gerard throws them out of the door, and keeps doing so until the bed is bare. He moves onto the closet then, removing multiple pairs of leopard-skin pants and low cut t-shirts. Keeping them close to his chest he can still smell the lingering scent of his mom's perfume, and for a moment he misses her so badly that it hurts, but she made her own choices and it's up to Gerard to run the house now, and he will, the tide has turned.

Five hours of work, where Gerard ignores the grumbling of his stomach, and all of the clothes are out of the room and moved into his grandma's room. Sitting on the stripped bed Gerard looks at the walls and imagines how he's going to decorate, skeletons and goblins dancing through flames, the sky at night and flying vampires. Gerard's fingers itch with the need to draw and he almost runs downstairs, gathering up his sketch book and a handful of pens before running back up, sitting on the floor in a patch of sunlight.

Gerard begins to draw.

~~~

"Gerard, are you here?"

Gerard's hand is cramped and he flexes his fingers as he puts down his sketch book and pen. He's surrounded by torn off pages, each one covered in designs that he's going to transfer to the wall. The urge to create is almost overwhelming and he feels giddy as he pushes himself up to his feet and out onto the landing. "I'm up here."

"Coming up," Bob says, and Gerard watches as he climbs the stairs, looking confused as he looks at Gerard. "You look flushed, are you okay?"

"I'm great." Gerard smiles and indicates that Bob should follow him into the bare room. "I've been sketching, I'm going to transfer them to the walls. I'm thinking some kind of black and purple."

"Sounds good," Bob says and steps over the scattered pens so he can look at the sketches that litter the floor. "You've drawn a lot."

"I know, it's been a long time but today it felt right." Gerard tries to think how to explain the feeling, like parts of himself had been thrown open again, letting him touch and feel and create. "I knew saying nothing was best, if I hadn't this couldn't have happened."

Bob looks up from the sketches. "What haven't you being saying?"

"About the grey," Gerard says, and momentarily wonders if he should have admitted that at all, but Bob's saying nothing, just keeps watching, and Gerard starts to explain. "It was like being trapped underwater, everything was muffled and the colors were dimmed. It was fucking horrible."

"And you didn't say anything?" Bob asks, and takes a step back, sitting on the bed.

"No." Gerard runs his hands through his hair and glances down at his sketches, wanting to touch. "You know what it was like in the beginning, I had so many fucking side effects when they were trying combinations of drugs. That week without sleep nearly ended me, I couldn't do it again. The grey was better."

"So you struggled through it."

"Better that than screaming at Mikey again." Ice runs down Gerard's spine as he remembers that week of no sleep, how it felt like bugs scrambled under his skin and how he ended up yelling as he threw a mug at Mikey. "He needed his big brother."

"Yeah, he does," Bob says, and Gerard doesn't understand what he means, because maybe Gerard has been a little off these last few months, but he's back now. Things are fixed, they're okay.

"I've got paint in the basement, I'm going to look, you coming?"

Bob gives Gerard a searching look then stands, says, "Okay."

They go down to the basement, walking over the pile of clothes that's still at the bottom of the stairs. Reminding himself to finish laundry later, Gerard leads Bob to the far corner of the basement, where he's sure he's got a crate of different paints. Kneeling, he throws aside books and comic and a stuffed rabbit missing an eye. Finally, at the very back of the mound of stuff, he pulls out a red plastic crate and looks inside, happy to see it's full of paint.

"I should be able to draw vampires with this," Gerard says, blowing the dust off a small pot of black gloss. "I'll make do anyway, it's not like we've the money for new stuff."

"I'm sure they'll look great." Bob picks up a brush, running his thumb over the bristles that are clogged up and stiff with old paint. "Have you eaten today? Or taken your medication?"

Gerard shakes his head and looks at the clock next to his bed. "I haven't eaten but I took my tablets this morning. I need to go take my next lot." Reluctantly he stands, leaving the crate where it is. It's time for his medication and then he needs to start making dinner. The painting can wait until tomorrow.

 

~*~*~*~

Bob leaves Gerard boiling pasta and stirring ready made sauce, looking cheerful as he hums a song under his breath. While wanting to be happy for him, Bob can't help being concerned, because he's seen this before. Stomach twisting, all he wants to do is go back and stand guard, but he keeps walking, knowing there's nothing he can do but wait and hope that he's wrong.

He looks at his watch. Brian's due in on the nine o clock bus and Bob decides to walk, enjoying the diminishing heat of the day. He strides along the sidewalk, and takes a series of deep breaths, exhaling slowly as he matches the exhales to his number of steps. It's an exercise he does often, it helps him keep calm and push back the anger that's always there, a constant burn that he's learned to keep dampened and hidden.

It's something he worked hard to overcome, anger management groups and therapy and if he ever forgets how bad it was before, the scars on his knuckles are a permanent reminder. He runs his fingers over them now, tracing along the line where the skin puckers slightly, faint now, but Bob remembers they're there. The same way he remembers his hand crashing through glass and blood splattering to the floor.

Bob takes in another deep breath. He's not the same person now, he's changed his life and made it better. He's got a good job and good friends, an apartment that's tiny but his, he's looking forward not back, and if he's a little nervous about seeing Brian, mixing his old life with the new. Well, that's okay. Bob will deal. He always does.

It takes forty minutes to get to the station, leaving just enough time for Bob to buy a coffee and grab a seat on one of the ornate metal benches that are tucked against the walls. He's sitting next to an old woman who smiles and offers him a mint out of a paper packet. Accepting with a brief smile, Bob sucks at the candy and drinks his coffee, grimacing a little at the resulting mixed taste. He watches as the digital clock turns toward nine. It's been over a year since he saw Brian and he can't help feeling a little nervous, that despite the phone calls and occasional emails, things will have inevitably changed.

"You're meeting someone, sonny?" The old lady turns to Bob, her wrinkled cheeks sucked in as she eats her own candy.

Bob tucks his mint against his cheek, normally he's not one for small talk but that doesn't mean he'd be rude enough to ignore her, especially when he's taken her candy. "My friend."

"My daughter's coming home for a visit, she's bringing my grand-babies." She smiles and digs a wallet out of her purse, flipping it open to show Bob two pictures. "That's Billy, he's ten and likes to play soccer." She points at the next picture, at a younger girl with her hair in pig tails and a gap-toothed smile. "Sara's seven. Isn't she adorable?" Bob nods but can't help being relieved when the woman puts away her wallet and tucks her purse under her arm. She looks at Bob, her gaze bright and inquisitive. "Is your friend visiting for long?"

"Staying hopefully," Bob says, and checks the clock again. Nine o five, surely the bus will come soon?

"I hope you both have fun." She pats Bob's arm and sits upright slightly, squinting as she looks toward the road. "Is that the Chicago bus?"

Bob stands, peering at the bus that's winding its way slowly toward the station. He can't see the number at first, but the bus gets nearer and he takes a step forward, needing to see. "It is." He turns then, watching as the woman gathers up a variety of bags. "Do you want some help with those?"

"Oh no, sonny, I've got them." She smiles, her gaze slipping past Bob to the bus that's pulling into the station. "You go wait for your friend."

Bob nods and makes his way forward, standing toward the back of the crowd that's gathered. The bus pulls to a stop with a groan of brakes and the door at the front opens, people spilling out from inside. A man with a laptop bag over his shoulder. Two young girls, giggling as they step to the ground. A woman carrying a baby in a yellow blanket and then, a boy and girl who have to be the grandchildren of the woman at the bench. Bob watches as they tumble from the bus, followed by their mother who grins wide as they run into the arms of the old lady.

Then finally, when most people on the bus have already exited, Brian. He's carrying a small bag and when he sees Bob he changes direction, weaving through the baggage claiming crowd.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Bryar. What happened? You're fucking skinny."

Self-consciously, Bob shrugs, he's lost a lot of weight this last year, dropping pounds as he worked hard in the gardens. It's something he forgets about mostly, he's never been vain and wears what's comfortable, not what looks good. Still, sometimes he catches glimpses of himself in the mirror, and double-takes at the tanned, muscled guy who looks back in return.

Brian looks Bob from head to toe. "You think you're too good to give me some love?"

Bob grins then, pulling Brian into a brief hug. "I see you haven't grown."

"And you're still an asshole," Brian says, and grabs hold of Bob's hair, giving it a tug. "Who do you think you are? The Fabio of the gardening world?"

"Fuck off, I haven't had time for a cut, is all," Bob says, and looks toward the driver, who's piling cases and bags in front of the bus. "You got any more baggage?"

Brian holds up his bag. "Just this."

Bob eyes the small bag, doubtful it's big enough for even one change of outfit. "That's all you've brought?"

"That's all I've got _to_ bring," Brian says, and for the first time Bob sees the strain he's trying to keep hidden. It reminds him of when they first met, both of them damaged, but forging a friendship that eventually became solid.

"Fair enough," Bob says, and starts to walk toward the exit, knowing it's pointless asking Brian to talk now. "There's not much edible at my place, so I figured we'd order in pizza."

"Nice way to treat a guest," Brian says, walking at Bob's side. "Have you even got somewhere for me to sleep?"

"You're taking the floor." Bob doesn't even try to hide his grin at Brian's glare. He's missed this guy.

~*~*~*~

As soon as Gerard wakes he knows something is wrong. He hasn't even opened his eyes when he feels it, the weight pressing against his chest and holding him down, the detached grey feeling he's suffered for months changed into black clouds that feel stuffed into his head, crammed in until he feels like he's suffocating from the inside out. Breathing hard he reminds himself that he's okay now, that things are _fine_, but it's so obvious that they're not. Everything feels wrong, dead, and Gerard brings his hands up to his face, clenched fists against his eyes, feeling the tears that slip past his fingers.

This wasn't supposed to happen and logically Gerard knows he should be angry, but he can't, because all he's got room for is despair, crushing and overwhelming and all he wants to do is pull up the covers and hide. Groping for the blanket, Gerard pulls at it until it's up to his nose, curls up small and lies still, his eyes open as he stares at the small window to outside.

Shadows move behind the pane of glass, the lavender plant nothing but dark shadows, and Gerard feels himself sinking deeper into a hole, forced to look up when everything else exists above ground.

He hates it down here, he knows he'll never get back up.

~~~~

Gerard moves once that day, the blanket wrapped around him as he shuffles for the bathroom, his bladder full to bursting. He doesn't look in the mirror, just averts his head as he pees then goes back to bed.

~~~~

"Gee?"

It's still light when Mikey returns home. Gerard hears the slam of the back door and the sound of footsteps, Mikey coughing as he goes upstairs to the bedrooms and then straight back down. Gerard doesn't turn, just keeps staring at the window, listening to the harsh sound of Mikey's breathing and his intake of breath when he sees Gerard.

"Gerard? Gee?" Mikey walks closer and sinks to his knees next to the bed. He looks tired, pale, and if it were possible Gerard would hate himself even more for making Mikey look so exhausted.

"Have you been here all day?" Mikey asks, and he runs his hand over Gerard's forehead, pushing back his sweat-soaked hair. "I should have come back when you didn't answer your phone."

Gerard shakes his head. It's not Mikey's job to look after him, Mikey should be with the people that love him, having fun far away from Gerard. He swallows, forcing himself to talk. "Phone Frank, go out with him, I'll be okay."

"Fuck that, Gee," Mikey says, and sits on the floor, kicking off his sneakers. He stands then, and climbs awkwardly over Gerard and lays behind him in bed, wiggling until Gerard's cradled against him, Mikey holding him close. "I'm staying here with you. Always."

He keeps holding on, a constant presence as Gerard struggles to breathe.

 

~*~*~*~

"Bob!"

Bob looks up when Frank barrels into the apartment, looking frantic as he skids to a halt and drops his bag on the floor. When he sees Brian sitting on the sofa he takes a step back, his mouth shutting closed with a snap.

Bob puts down his half-eaten pizza slice in the box, hunger washed away by apprehension as he makes a quick introduction. "Frank, Brian, Brian, Frank. He's a pain in my ass."

"You know you love me," Frank says, but it's obviously more automatic than anything and he runs his hand through his hair, making the purple strands stand on end. "Hi, nice to meet you." Frank flashes a smile at Brian, and then turns back to Bob. "I've been texting Mikey, Gerard's bad, like, how he was before nearly."

It's what Bob was afraid of, and he sinks back in his chair. "How's Mikey dealing?"

"Okay from what he says, he's in bed with Gerard," Frank glances at Brian, then looks away when he reacts by keeping eating his pizza. "It's his night off so he's not losing money, we were supposed to go to the movies. I was going to buy that popcorn he likes, with the butter and shit."

"Frank," Bob cuts in. "You can go another time."

"I know that!" Frank all but yells. "It's not about that, if he left he wouldn't be Mikey, but Gerard was supposed to be better."

"It's not that simple," Bob says wearily, hating how Frank's looking at him as if he can provide all the answers. "Getting the right combination takes time."

"But he's had time." Frank's clutching his phone, the tiny flower charm swinging wildly at the bottom. "He said he was feeling better."

"He probably was at the time." Bob keeps his attention on Frank, all too aware of the assessing look Brian is sending his way. "There's no magical cures, it doesn't work that way."

"It's not fair," Frank says angrily and pushes his hands in the pocket of his overalls, reminding Bob of just how young Frank really is. "What should we do?"

"There's nothing we can do tonight," Bob says, knowing that Frank will hate the answer. "Mikey's dealing with things, I'll go over tomorrow before work."

"He shouldn't have to deal." Frank takes a pace back and takes his hands out of his pocket, running his fingers through his hair. "And you always go over, so why not tonight? Because you've got another friend you're not going to bother?"

Bob reminds himself that Frank's afraid and lashing out, takes a breath and says, "I'm not going over because there's nothing I can do. Not right now. If things get worse and either of them need me I'll be over in an instant. Until then, they don't need people watching them try to deal."

Frank stares down at the floor, the anger of before bleeding away to expose obvious fear. "Yeah, I guess. Sorry." He looks up then and pulls out his phone. "I'll tell Mikey we're going over before breakfast. I'll take him popcorn, the stuff in a bag."

"Nutritious," Bob says, and Frank shoots him a quick look, already sending a text.

"I said we'd be there at six. Pick me up before." Frank leaves with a last wave of his hand and a slam of the door. Bob slumps back, waiting for the inevitable questions.

It doesn't take long. Giving Bob a long look, Brian says, "You let him walk in without knocking."

"He only does it sometimes," Bob says, and doesn't add the last time Frank knocked was about nine months before, once he'd decided Bob was more than a work friend and more an actual friend.

"Even so," Brian says, and he's still looking at Bob as if he's trying to figure things out. "What happened to your over-inflated sense of privacy?"

"I met a bunch of clingy fuckers with no sense of personal space," Bob says, and doesn't take offense when all Brian does is laugh, because it's all kinds of ridiculous that Bob's ended up with a group of friends who think it's perfectly okay to drape themselves over him and invade his life. "They're good people."

"I wouldn't expect anything less for your friends," Brian says when he finally stops laughing. "You told me about Frank but I didn't expect him to be so... colorful."

"I told you, he looks like the end result if a rainbow blew chunks," Bob says, and tries to stop his fond smile before Brian sees. "He's a good kid, amazing with plants, and Mikey. Even if they are fucking sickening."

"The one with the hair, yeah?"

"That's him." Bob settles back, making himself comfortable as he talks about his friends. Who Brian already knows about, but it's good to talk about them face to face, like Bob's starting to mesh his two lives. "He's really quiet at first, but once he's comfortable with you he's got a wicked sense of humor."

Brian leans forward and takes another slice of pizza. "Is he still working all the time?"

"He's got no choice, it's taking forever to get Gerard's disability through and they need money for his meds somehow."

"Gerard, I was waiting for you to mention him." Brian points his pizza slice at Bob. "What's the deal?"

"You'll see him tomorrow, maybe, Ray too," Bob says, changing the subject slightly. "You'll like Ray, he's gold, a stand-up guy, hot too, just your type."

"Fuck no, you're not distracting me like that." Brian takes a bite of pizza, chewing hard. He swallows, says, "You're always talking about Gerard."

"Because he's my friend, and he's having a hard time," Bob protests, already knowing Brian won't take that as an answer.

"And?" Brian prompts, and doesn't back down as the silence stretches.

"And, I don't know," Bob says, frustrated. Brian remains quiet as Bob thinks what to say, because he's having a hard time sorting out his own feelings, never mind talking about them to someone else. "He's fucking hot and I really like him, but you know what happened before, what if I'm sticking around because it's a familiar situation?"

"Bullshit," Brian says, frowning as he looks at Bob. "It's not the same thing and you know it. The situation with your mom was fucked up, but Gerard's not your mom. Don't use that as an excuse."

"I know he's not my mom," Bob says, and he does. That's perfectly clear, it's the rest of the situation that's the problem. "What if I get involved and it all goes wrong?"

"Seems to me you're already involved," Brian says, and cuts Bob off when he starts to protest. "You're always talking about them, I've never even seen Gerard but I feel like I know him. Face it, you're involved and as for going wrong. Don't even front, I know you're not a coward."

"Maybe," Bob concedes, but doesn't take the conversation further. It's not like Gerard wants anything back, anyway. "So, what's been going on with you?"

"Subtle," Brian says, and picks up his soda, taking a long drink. "Same old, same old. I owed money and had to sell my shit to get it. This is my new start I guess."

"It's a good place for that." Bob picks up his glass and holds it in the air. "To fresh starts."

"And morons with hero complexes buying a clue," Brian says, clinking their glasses together.

~*~*~*~

"Gerard, I need to get ready for work," Mikey runs his hand down Gerard's arm. It tickles but in an abstract way, like Mikey's touching Gerard through thick cotton. "Gee, you need to eat something today, come on." Clambering over Gerard, Mikey slides to the floor and rests against the bed on his elbows. He pushes Gerard's hair out of his face, says. "For me, please."

The thought of getting out of bed is exhausting, but Mikey's not moving, just sits and waits and even through the feeling of _wrong_, Gerard will always try his hardest for Mikey. "I'm tired."

"I know you are." Mikey moves so he's half lying on the bed, sharing the same pillow as Gerard. "But I need you to eat and take your meds at least."

"I'm not hungry," Gerard lets his eyes close, then opens them again when Mikey moves even closer, so that their foreheads are pressed together.

"Well I am, so come keep me company," Mikey says, and sits up, pulling off the blanket. He grabs Gerard's arm and urges him up and it's just easier to give in and sit, even though every movement takes effort. If it wasn't for the way Mikey is standing watching, looking rumpled as he rubs at his chest with his hand, Gerard would lie back down, but Mikey _is_ watching so Gerard slowly gets to his feet, staggering slightly when he's upright.

"I was thinking pop-tarts for breakfast. I think there's some of the chocolate ones left." Mikey shoves his feet into his sneakers, leaving the laces loose as he walks toward the stairs. "I'll go put the coffee on."

He goes upstairs, and Gerard hears him coughing when he reaches the top, then the sound of water running and cupboards being opened and closed. Gerard starts to walk toward the stairs, he doesn't look back at his bed because he knows if he does he'll lie down and not get back up. As it is it takes him all his time to get over the mound of laundry and up the steps, clinging on to the banister as he hauls himself up. When he does so he sits at the kitchen table, chin resting against his hands as he watches Mikey pull out a box of pop-tarts, frowning when he sees there's one left inside.

Dropping it in the toaster, he gathers two mugs, setting them next to the coffee machine, then leans against the counter, waiting as it drips. When there's enough, Mikey fills the two mugs and takes the pop-tart out of the toaster, putting it on a plate and carefully cuts it in half. Mugs and plate in hand, he sits at the table and gives Gerard his coffee before taking a long drink of his own.

"You should phone your therapist later, tell her you need an emergency appointment." Mikey keeps his hands wrapped around his mug, his knuckles white as he looks at Gerard. Eventually he says, his words low, "Your meds, have they been helping at all?"

It's not a question Gerard wants to answer, he already feels wrong, disgusting and worthless, admitting to lying all this time is playing in to that lack of worth and his hands are shaking, making coffee slop over the side of his mug. He hisses out a breath when it scalds his skin.

"Hey, it's okay." Mikey reaches out and takes Gerard's mug and then goes to the sink, grabbing a sock from the pile on the counter, soaking it with cold water. Coming back to the table he pulls his chair close, then wraps the sock around Gerard's hand, holding it there with his own. "You should have told me if they weren't. I would have sorted something out."

"I know," Gerard says. "I wanted to be the big brother for once."

"You've always been my big brother," Mikey says. "The best fucking big brother in the world."

Gerard wishes he could believe that, and Mikey seems to sense that disbelief, is about to speak again when there's the sound of footsteps from outside, and the kitchen door opens, letting in Frank, Bob, Ray, and some guy Gerard's never seen before.

"What happened?" Frank almost runs over, dropping to his knees as he looks at Gerard's hand. He also wraps his arm around Mikey's waist, holding on tight.

"It's just a coffee spill, no big deal," Mikey says, and lists to the side so he's leaning against Frank. "He's fine."

"And what about you?" Frank asks, looking up at Mikey. "You sound congested as fuck."

Mikey shrugs. "I'm fine, too. It's just a cold."

Frank doesn't look sure, and Gerard wants to sink into the floor, because he never noticed anything was wrong at all. "You're sick?"

"I've a cold, a small one," Mikey says, and he picks at the corner of the pop-tart, breaking off a piece of pastry.

"We brought breakfast, doughnuts and shit," Frank says, and reaches into his overall pocket, bringing out a large bag of popcorn. "And I brought you this. It's got caramel."

"Good choice, thank you." Mikey takes the bag and bends forward, kissing Frank on the cheek. "I need to go get changed. Save me some breakfast?"

Frank grins. "How about Bob saves you breakfast and I come help pick out your outfit?"

Mikey smiles slightly, says, "Deal."

They leave once Mikey's checked Gerard's hand, Frank running up the stairs, Mikey following more slowly. Only then does Gerard turn his attention to the others, Bob who's making more coffee, Ray who's putting a selection of pastries and doughnuts on a plate, and the strange guy, who's hanging back and taking in every inch of the room. When he sees Gerard looking, he steps forward, says, "As Bob's being an ignorant bastard and not introducing me, hi, I'm Brian."

"Hey," Gerard says, and tries to remember what Bob told him about his friend. It's not much, but Gerard knows how important he is to Bob and can't help wishing he'd met him on a time when he wasn't an emotional fuck-up who'd obviously slept in his clothes.

Bob looks over at Brian. "I would have introduced you eventually."

"Sure you would, the same way you shoved me in Ray's van and didn't tell me he was my new boss until we'd driven half-way here."

"What, the _Ray's Gardening Firm_ on the side wasn't a clue?" Bob rolls his eyes and takes a drink of his coffee before grabbing the plate, clearing aside the bills, forms and letters on the table before he sets it down. He pushes the plate toward Gerard. "Eat."

Gerard really isn't hungry, but Bob's not looking away, just keeps pointedly staring until Gerard picks up a doughnut covered with chocolate sprinkles. He breaks off a piece, putting it in his mouth, more to please Bob than any pleasure in eating.

"We're teaching Brian to make striped lawns today," Bob says, and pushes out a chair with his foot, indicating that Brian should sit. "Eat up, you'll need your strength."

"For cutting grass?" Brian grabs a muffin, looking dubious, while all Ray looks is pained as he sits at the remaining chair.

"Creating a good lawn's more than just cutting the grass, it takes attention to detail to get those stripes."

"I'm good at details," Brian says, eating his way through the muffin.

"I'm glad someone is." Ray looks at the ceiling when there's a crash from upstairs followed by the sound of Frank laughing. "Frank keeps wanting to cut designs in the lawns. I left him alone once and he cut crop circles in the long grass."

Brian grins. "How did your client take it?"

"They didn't see, thankfully," Ray says. "Frank cut the lot before they got back, but still, I lost a few years off my life that day."

"That lawn looked awesome," Frank yells from upstairs, then there's the thump of feet and Gerard looks at the stairs and sees Frank appear, a blur of color as he takes the stairs three at a time. "You could charge extra for my design skills."

"Or I could stick to stripes and keep my customers," Ray says, and hands Frank a rainbow sprinkled doughnut. "You want a ride to school?"

Frank shakes his head. "Class isn't until ten, I'll hang here until Mikey leaves for work."

Gerard bites at the inside of his cheek. He's barely coping right now, surrounded by people and all he wants to do is go back downstairs and get into bed. If Frank stays it means Gerard can't do that. Not for hours at least and he hates himself even more when he feels his eyes film with tears.

"You sure?" Bob asks, and Gerard ducks his head so he doesn't have to see the way Bob's looking at Frank, trying to convey a message without words.

"I'm sure," Frank says, sounding determined, and Gerard does look up then, seeing the way Frank's standing his ground.

"We'd better get going, we've a lot on today." Ray stands, swallowing the last of his muffin. "Tell Mikey we'll see him later."

Gerard nods, and stays sitting as Brian stands too, smiling a goodbye as he follows Ray to the door, which leaves Bob, who pulls his chair close, enough that his leg is pressing against Gerard's. "You're phoning your therapist today?"

"I'll try," Gerard says, and that's all he's got to give, he can't promise because he's got no promises in him right now.

"Good enough." Bob rests his hand against Gerard's shoulder, so solid and there that Gerard can't resist tilting his head so he's resting his cheek against Bob's arm. They sit in silence, Gerard listening to the sound of their breathing, until eventually there's the sound of the van starting and Bob says, "I have to go."

"Okay," Gerard says, and lifts his head as Bob stands then crouches down so he can see Gerard.

"I'll be back after work. If you need anything, call me. I mean it."

"I will," Gerard says, but he doubts he will, his only plans are to get back in bed and pull up the covers.

A last look and Bob leaves, and it's only Gerard and Frank. Which shouldn't be a problem because while Frank is Mikey's boyfriend, he's also become Gerard's friend, but it doesn't feel okay. Gerard feels gross and stupid and he looks at the stairs to the basement, needing to hide.

"Gerard," Frank says, and he hesitantly walks forward, sitting in the chair Bob just left. He sits still, and his downcast expression looks wrong against the shock of orange in his hair. "I know I'm not Bob or Mikey, but I am your friend. And it's probably stupid because I know it doesn't fix anything, but I really like hugs. Like, a lot, and I guess. I'm just saying, I know I'm small but I give good hugs, and if you need one, I'm here."

Gerard's looking down at Frank's knees, at the ladybugs he's painted around the holes in his jeans, but he looks up then, surprised Frank's making the offer when Gerard's so pathetic and gross. Breath hitching, Gerard says, "I just feel so sad."

"I'm sorry, so sorry," Frank says, his voice thick. "I wish I could help, could do something more than give hugs." He opens his arms then, pulling Gerard into a hug and holds on, Gerard's cheek against Frank's chest, listening to the thump of his heart and the sound of his voice as he keeps saying. "It'll be okay, it has to be. You'll be fine."

And even if Gerard doesn't believe him he keeps listening as Frank continues talking, only stopping when Mikey comes downstairs and says, "Room for one more?"

Frank moves one arm, leaving room for Mikey to wiggle close, says, "Always."

~*~*~*~

Bob digs the spade into the ground and leans against the handle. He's hot and the bandanna he's got wrapped around his head is soaked through, both with sweat and the water he uses to hose himself down. Nearby Ray's kneeling next to Brian, patiently showing him examples of weeds and demonstrating how to tease them out between the flowers. Brian listens intently, nodding as he takes hold of the weed and tugs.

Ray looks over his shoulder. "Does the lack of work mean it's time for lunch?"

On cue Bob's stomach growls, and he wipes his hands together as Ray and Brian stand, dusting off their knees. Together they head for the van and Ray unlocks the back, taking out a large cooler bag. Handing it over to Bob, he takes out bottles of water and passes two to Brian, keeping one for himself as he shuts the van doors.

"You provide lunch?" Brian asks, looking surprised.

"No, we expected you to eat grass," Bob says, grinning when Brian tries to jab him with a water bottle.

"It's not part of the job description," Ray says, and heads for a shady spot under the oak tree that dominates that corner of the garden. "But Frank kept forgetting his lunch so I started making more sandwiches." He shrugs, folding himself down onto the grass, legs crossed Indian style. "Now it's just a thing, I don't mind."

"He makes good sandwiches." Bob sits too, opening the cooler bag and taking out three stacks of sandwiches, all of them wrapped in foil. Setting them on the ground he opens them all, eying the contents before selecting a sandwich that seems to contain thick slices of cheese and pickle. "When Frank's working he puts little green flags on the vegetarian choices."

"Fuck off, I did that once." Ray takes a moment to flip Bob off before picking up his own sandwich. He looks at Brian, says, "Help yourself, there's roast ham, cheese and that one's tuna."

Taking a ham sandwich, Brian takes a large bite and leans against the trunk of the tree, and for the first time since he got off the bus he looks truly relaxed. Which is surprising, because it's obvious Brian's not a natural gardener, spending more time glaring at the weeds than actually pulling them, like they're going to wilt at his scowled command. Which is all kinds of amusing, not that Bob will ever say so, he's too grateful to see Brian finally lose some of the tension that's plagued him since he stepped off the bus.

It takes all of ten minutes for all of the sandwiches to be eaten and Bob feels full and sleepy as he lies back, enjoying the sun that's dappled through the branches of the tree. They'll have to get up and finish this job soon, but for now he's content to lie still and enjoy the company of his friends.

"I was thinking," Ray says, and crumples up the foil, putting it into the bag. "I know someone who's got discounted paint, and we've got no jobs on Sunday afternoon."

"Apart from you doing the books you mean," Bob says, and feels a rush of affection when all Ray does is shrug and zip shut the bag.

"I can do those on the night."

Which is technically true but Bob knows how much Ray hates doing the accounts, especially at the end of a long day. "If you're planning on helping Gerard by painting his room, it would be quicker with two."

"Make that three." At Bob's look Brian frowns, says, "What? Just because I've only met him once doesn't mean I can't help."

Bob's pretty sure for many people it would mean exactly that, but he knows Brian's sincere in his offer to help. Crossing his hands behind his head, Bob squints against the brightness of the sun and sends a silent thanks for having such amazing friends.

~*~*~*~

Gerard sits at the kitchen table, a sheet of paper in front of him, the new appointment time and date with his therapist scrawled across the middle -- red pen against white paper, a spreading ink blotch at one end. That he phoned at all feels like some kind of victory, which in turn makes Gerard feel washed out and pathetic, that even a phone call is so hard.

Pushing the paper to one side he stands, needing to take a nap, then freezes in place when he hears someone start to open the door. For a moment Gerard thinks about running downstairs and hiding away, because he can't deal right now, not even with his friends. He takes a step toward the basement, then stops, confused when Mikey walks into the kitchen and drops his bag to the floor.

"Mikey?" Mikey's far too early, he doesn't finish work for hours yet and concern pierces through the apathy as Gerard notices how Mikey is leaning against the counter, trying to catch his breath.

"I'm okay," Mikey says, waving Gerard back. "They just sent me home as a precaution."

"A precaution for what?" Gerard moves close and rests his hand against Mikey's cheek. "You're burning up."

Mikey ducks out of the way. "It's hot out there and I walked home." He sways slightly and grabs for Gerard's arm, holding on. "I'm going to watch TV for a while."

"Okay." Together they walk into the living room, Gerard watching as Mikey sits and kicks off his sneakers before curling up in the corner of the sofa, shivering as he gropes for the blanket that's draped over the back. Grabbing it, Gerard unfolds it with a flick of his hands and carefully makes sure Mikey's covered. "You want something to drink?"

"Juice, please," Mikey says, his eyes already half-closed.

"I'll be back in a minute." A last concerned look and Gerard goes back to the kitchen, filling a glass with juice. Holding it steady, he takes it to Mikey, but finds he's already asleep, his mouth open and breathing heavy and wet sounding. Sinking down in the chair, Gerard sets the juice on the coffee table and worries at the side of his thumbnail with his teeth, thinking about money and Mikey's lack of insurance -- Gerard's never felt so alone.

~~~~

Mikey sleeps for almost an hour and Gerard stands guard, sitting in the easy chair, his legs bent and arms wrapped around his knees. When Mikey starts coughing in his sleep, his face going red as he wakes himself up, eyes wide as he fights for breath, Gerard tumbles forward, his knee striking against the floor with a crack as he crawls over to Mikey's side.

"Mikey, Mikey, you're okay, breathe." Gerard rubs Mikey's back, feeling how hot he is, his t-shirt clinging with sweat. "Mikey, come on, wake up, have a drink." Hand shaking, Gerard reaches for the juice and helps Mikey sit up slightly, holding him as he drinks. When he's finished Mikey slumps back and Gerard eases him against the cushions. "You need to see a doctor."

"No," Mikey says, his head against the side of the sofa, as if he can't keep himself upright. "We can't afford it."

Gerard wants to argue, but he knows Mikey's telling the truth, and he sits on the floor, his hand against Mikey's side, listening to each shuddering breath. When he thinks Mikey's asleep, Gerard gently takes off his glasses and sets them safely to the side, then stands and goes to look for his phone, eventually finding it next to the pastries left on the kitchen table. Picking it up, Gerard presses the number for Bob.

It takes him a while to answer, and Gerard's about to hang up when he hears Bob's, "Hello, Gerard?"

"I need to go get Mikey some medicine, but I don't want to leave him alone. After work, can you come here and watch him? I shouldn't be gone long but he won't go to the doctor and he needs stuff, medicine and shit and...."

"Gerard. Gee. Slow down." There's the sound of footsteps and muffled talking, as if Bob's covered the phone, then he says, "Go on."

Making the effort to calm down, Gerard moves so he can see Mikey, but stays out of the room so he won't wake him up as he talks. "Mikey's been sent home from work and he's sick. Like, really fucking sick. He's burning up and coughing and I don't understand, he wasn't this bad this morning."

"Sometimes stuff like this comes on fast," Bob says, sounding so calm that Gerard can't help be slightly reassured. "Get him to drink fluids if you can, and I'll be over as soon as soon as I finish here."

"Yeah, I can do that," Gerard says, and even though he wants to slide to the ground he locks his knees and ends the call as he goes to sit by Mikey. He's still asleep, pale apart from his flushed cheeks and Gerard can't help but worry that he's going to fuck this up somehow and make Mikey worse. "I'm sorry." Gerard runs his fingers over Mikey's cheek, feeling the heat. "I should have known you were getting this sick. I should have made you stay home. I'm the worst brother ever."

Mikey doesn't reply.

~~~~~

When Bob arrives Gerard's sitting on the couch with Mikey, practically holding him upright as he coughs. He can feel the heat radiating from Mikey's body and Gerard's scared as he rubs Mikey's back and sees how he's trying not to shake.

"Jesus, kid, we can't leave you for five minutes."

Relieved, Gerard looks up and sees Bob walk into the room. He's still wearing his work clothes and his hair is pulled back by a red bandanna, his boots left somewhere so he's walking in socked feet -- just seeing him makes Gerard feel better. "I've been giving him juice, but he's not that thirsty."

"Good." Bob crouches next to Gerard and rests his hand against Mikey's forehead. "Ray's taken Brian to the pharmacy, they'll be back soon. Until then, we'll get Mikey more comfortable."

"I don't know if he'll get upstairs," Gerard says, staying still as Mikey rests against him, his eyes closed.

"Down here will work," Bob says, and kneels up and carefully takes Mikey from Gerard. "Go get him pajama pants and t-shirts, lying in jeans can't be comfortable. A sheet from the bed, too. This blanket's too thick."

"But he's cold," Gerard protests, feeling the way Mikey's still shivering.

"He's shivering like that because he's too hot, we need to get him cooled down." Holding Mikey against him, Bob rubs circles on his back, being so gentle that Gerard gets to his feet, even though all he wants to do is take Mikey back.

A last look and he goes upstairs, pushing himself through the fog as he gathers an armful of sleep wear and a thin blanket. Holding the bundle in his arms, he goes back down, and sees that Bob has Mikey sitting upright, holding him steady.

"Okay kid," Bob says, his voice pitched low. "Here's Gerard, we're going to get you into something more comfortable."

"I'm okay. I'll have a nap and I'll be good to go," Mikey says, his voice hoarse and barely audible as he shakes his head.

"Sorry, it's non-negotiable." Bob indicates that Gerard come forward, ignoring the way Mikey's giving him a glassy-eyed glare. "Hands up."

A brief pause and Mikey does as he's told, holding up his arms so Gerard can peel off his t-shirt. Dropping it to the floor he uses the blanket to rub Mikey's back, and then slides a clean t-shirt over his head, helping him thread his hands into the arm holes and then tugs it down.

"Jeans next," Bob says, matter of fact, and he stands, helping Mikey upright.

"I've got it." Mikey unfastens his belt and button on his jeans, giving Bob a narrow-eyed look before sliding them down. When they're gathered around his knees he sits, and Gerard kneels, pulling the jeans off Mikey's feet. "I could have done that."

"I know," Gerard says simply, not phased about doing this at all. Grabbing the pajama pants, he bundles up a leg and slides it over Mikey's foot and then does the same for the others. "Stand up a moment." When Mikey stands Gerard tugs up the pajama pants, making sure they're straight before Mikey sits back down, immediately pulling up his legs and curling into the corner of the couch.

"Hold on, drink before sleep." Bob takes hold of the glass of juice and hands it over, keeping watching until Mikey takes a drink. "Ray's bringing you medicine that'll help ease your cough. I'm going to make something to eat."

Eyes closed, Mikey says, "I'm not hungry."

"Well I am, and I'm sure Gerard is." Bob holds out a hand when Gerard opens his mouth. "You can stop here, I'll bring you something."

Taking the other end of the couch, Gerard sits and Mikey stretches out his legs, putting his feet on Gerard's lap. Gerard rests his hand over Mikey's bony ankle, the touch helping keep him rooted in the now, an anchor against the sensation of being pulled back down.

"You okay, Gee?" Mikey's got the sheet pulled up to his chin, squinting his eyes as he looks at Gerard.

"Doesn't matter about me," Gerard says, and runs his thumb over Mikey's ankle, hating how washed-out he looks, as if he's finally let down his guard. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" Mikey asks, then holds out a hand as he starts to cough. When he's finished his cheeks are wet with tears and his face red. Gerard leans forward and picks up Mikey's discarded t-shirt, using it to dry his face.

"For that." Gerard drops the t-shirt and hands Mikey the glass of juice, making sure he swallows some before taking it back. "I should have known you were sick."

"I'll be fine by tomorrow," Mikey says, already mostly asleep.

~~~~~

By the night time Mikey's worse. Beside himself, Gerard's on the couch, holding Mikey upright so he can catch his breath. He's got his head resting against Gerard's, and is so hot that Gerard's sweating too, his shirt clinging at his back and under his arms. Keeping a firm hold on Mikey, Gerard watches Ray in the kitchen, where he's stirring a large pot on the stove while Brian sits at the table, reading something Gerard can't see. Bob's gone somewhere, Gerard's not sure where, just he made some phone calls then took off with the keys to Ray's van, promising to be back soon.

"Gee." Gerard turns his head when he hears Mikey speak, he's got his eyes closed still and his mouth slightly open, each breath labored. "I hate being sick."

"You'll be better soon," Gerard says, and pushes the hair out of Mikey's eyes. "Give the medicine a chance to work."

"It should taste like banana," Mikey says, and it takes Gerard a while to catch on, remembering the medicine their mom gave them when they were kids. "I think I can lie down now, you should go eat something and have you taken your meds?"

"You sure?" Gerard asks, and eases Mikey down onto the pile of pillows he's been lying on, where he curls around and immediately falls asleep. Taking hold of the sheet, Gerard pulls it up, then jumps when the kitchen door opens with a bang and Frank runs into view, his boots thudding against the floor as he hurries forward and skids to his knees in front of the couch.

"Mikey?" He reaches out, touching Mikey's side, looking so young and frightened that all Gerard wants to do is reassure him, but he can't, because it's a reassurance he needs himself.

"Don't wake him up," Bob says, carrying something that he sets down next to the couch.

"You should have called me, I would have skipped class," Frank says, never looking away from Mikey.

"Which is why I didn't call." Bob unwinds the cord from the back of the machine and plugs it in. "I called some people, they suspect Mikey's got bronchitis, not helped by him hanging out at the clubs. A humidifier will help and a hot water bottle to his chest, have you got one or do I need to go buy one?"

Gerard tries to think, but his thoughts feel like they're buried and it's all he can do to keep sitting upright. "I don't...."

"There's one in Mikey's room," Frank says, looking up. "It's at the bottom of his bed, it's shaped like an Ewok."

"Of course it is," Bob says, switching on the humidifier, he looks at Gerard. "Is it okay if I go get it?"

"Sure, Mikey won't mind." Gerard sits forward on the couch, feeling damp, sticky and gross. Running his hands through his hair, he needs to stay next to Mikey but also needs to get away. The knowledge that he's fucked up so badly is crushing.

Bob steps forward and holds out his hand to Gerard. "You know what? You can come help me look."

"I should stay here," Gerard says, looking when Frank slides to the floor, sitting at Mikey's head.

"Frank's watching Mikey, and it doesn't feel right going in his room alone," Bob says, and eventually Gerard nods then stands.

Going upstairs takes a while, Gerard feels simultaneously light-headed and weighted down, which is all kinds of weird and when he reaches Mikey's room he slumps down on his bed, his head in his hands.

"You know this isn't your fault." Bob's looking at the bottom of the bed, moving aside hoodies and the trailing blanket until he finally finds a hot water bottle with a matted Ewok cover.

"I should have seen he was getting sick," Gerard says, and keeps looking at the ground when Bob sits, making the bed dip. "I knew he was working too much. I told him, but he kept getting mad, Mikey mad where he didn't say anything but I could tell. I should have made him stay home."

"Would he have listened?" Bob asks, and Gerard wants to say of course, because Mikey always listens to him, except he knows that sometimes Mikey doesn't, especially when it's something that'll end up helping Gerard.

"I still should have seen, but as fucking always it was all about me. I'm fucking pathetic."

"What would Mikey say if he heard someone talk about you like that?" Bob asks, and he shifts closer to Gerard, so close that they're touching.

"He'd kick their asses," Gerard says reluctantly. "He's going to be okay, yeah?"

"He should feel a little better tomorrow, if he doesn't I'll take him to the free clinic."

It's not the answer Gerard needs, but it's enough, and he takes the Ewok from Bob. "We'd better fill this up."

~~~~~

"You need to eat," Ray says, and sets a bowl of soup in front of Gerard. "I made this myself, it's got extra noodles."

Picking up his spoon, Gerard runs it through the soup, making the noodles slip under the surface. He didn't even know they had noodles in the house, and they certainly didn't have any kind of chicken that wasn't part of a nugget. "You bought the stuff to make me soup?"

"To make us all soup, and it didn't cost much," Ray says, and pulls out a chair, his back to the counter which is covered with various types of drinks and medicine. Gerard doesn't want to look in the fridge, he knows he'll never be able to pay Ray back. "I don't, if you wait a few weeks I'll try and pay...."

Breaking a roll in half, Ray points it at Gerard. "Don't even finish that thought, we've all descended on you for dinner, the least I could do was buy."

Which doesn't explain the extra stuff at all but Ray's looking stern and Gerard knows this is one battle he needs to concede. "Thank you."

"You can thank me by eating," Ray says, and takes a bite of his own roll before leaning across the table when he sees what Brain's reading. "You're reading the accounts for the business?"

Brain looks embarrassed, but he doesn't shut the book, just keeps his finger on a column of figures. "Sorry, everyone was busy and I was just sitting here and you'd left them there and." He sighs and takes a deep breath. "I used to do this shit, back in the day but still. I couldn't help see that some of the figures are wrong. Not much, you've missed a decimal which has thrown off the calculations and I was thinking. Some of these schedules could be tweaked, like this one, if we...." Brian stops talking then, and this time he does shut the book. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Ray says, looking pained as Brian pushes the book to one side. "It's the part of the business I hate the most. If you have some insights I'll take them. After you've eaten."

"No problem," Brian says, and starts to stand and get some soup. Ray shakes his head, and pushes over his own bowl.

"Take this one, I haven't touched it yet."

"I'm not taking your food," Brian says, but all Ray does is stand and head for the stove.

"Consider it me buttering you up, I need all the help I can get with the accounts." Ladling soup into a bowl, he looks into the living room and Gerard looks in that direction too, even though he can't see anything but a wall and part of the couch through the doorway.

"Mikey still asleep?" Gerard asks, turning back and forcing himself to eat past the rock in his stomach.

"Looks like it, I couldn't really see past Frank," Ray says, and grips Gerard's shoulder before sitting. Holding onto his spoon, Gerard's hand aches as he looks down at his soup. "You know, this isn't your fault."

Gerard sets down his spoon and pushes the bowl aside. "Bob said that, too."

"Bob knows what he's talking about," Ray says, glancing at Gerard's pushed aside bowl. "Tell Frank I've got some vegetable soup for him."

"I will." Gerard stops when he's half standing, his hand on the table as he looks at Ray. "Your soup's delicious, it's just. I'm not that hungry."

"It's okay." Ray smiles, and Gerard can't help feeling reassured. He's already let down so many people today he doesn't want to make it more. "Go sit with Mikey, I'm going to talk figures with Brian."

Which sounds all kinds of tedious to Gerard and he escapes to the living room, where Frank's still half on-half off the sofa, his hand resting against Mikey's side, just under the Ewok hot water bottle that Gerard wedged between the pillows and his back. "Ray's got you soup."

"I'm not hungry." Frank doesn't look away from Mikey, just keeps watching him breathe and Gerard's glad that at least one person is attentive.

"Wrong answer." Standing from the easy chair, Bob pushes his phone in his pocket then reaches down, grabbing Frank under the arms and lifting him with one easy movement. Feet kicking, Frank glares but Bob easily keeps hold. "You're going to come eat, Mikey's fine just now and Gerard's more than capable of watching him."

Gerard isn't that sure, but at Bob's look, he sits on the edge of the sofa, instinctively reaching out to touch Mikey.

"Yell if you need anything," Bob says and carries Frank from the room.

Left alone, Gerard turns, one knee bent on the cushions and his hand on Mikey's ankle. He can hear the others talking in the next room but in here it's quiet apart from the sound of Mikey's breathing and the hum of the humidifier. Picking up that note, Gerard begins to hum too, something that's more melody than actual song, ghost notes from the past when his family was more than Mikey and Gerard was genuinely happy.

~~~~~

"Gee."

Scrubbing at his eyes, Gerard sits, pushing a blanket off his lap. His whole body feels stiff and his neck is aching from where he's been lying sleeping slumped to one side. Peering through the dim light of the lamp, he sees that Mikey's awake, his eyes open and his hand on his chest.

"You want something?" Gerard says, whisper soft. Carefully he shuffles along the couch, aware that Frank's fast asleep on the floor, while Bob's curled up in the easy chair, his legs dangling over the side.

Mikey shakes his head and slowly pushes himself upright, swaying a little until he's lying back against the stack of pillows. Squinting, he peers around. "Why are we camping out?"

"Because you're sick, moron," Gerard says, and worms forward until he's close to Mikey. It's a tight fit, but they've had years of fitting together and soon Mikey's lying heavily against Gerard, still far too hot and his breathing too harsh. "Ray and Brian have gone home but they'll be back in the morning."

"Frank's here?"

"He's on the floor, he kept awake as long as he could." Taking hold of Mikey's hand, Gerard holds it up, showing his palm and the red heart surrounded by flowers that have been drawn on it in red ink. "He says he loves you."

Mikey smiles, the briefest curl of his lips. "How are you feeling?"

"Worried about you," Gerard admits, and lets go of Mikey's hand so he can pull up the sheet. "You should have told me you were sick."

"You should have told me your medication wasn't working," Mikey replies, and this isn't the time for this conversation, when Mikey can barely talk and Gerard barely function, but Mikey's expression is set and Gerard knows he's not going to back down.

"I thought it would be okay, the grey isn't that bad, it's better than this," Gerard says, and Mikey lies still, pale, his eyes shadowed and it feels like a confessional, Gerard's words hushed and his heart racing. "You know what it was like at first, what I did, the gray's nothing, like a world blanketed in fog but at least I'm not tearing at my own skin or being suffocated by black. I hate the black, it pushes me down into the pit and all I can do is look up, and then even that's too hard. The meds pulled me halfway out."

"To the grey," Mikey says, and rests his head close to Gerard's.

"The grey keeps me living," Gerard says, but Mikey shakes his head.

"You've forgotten what living actually is." He turns away then, hand in front of his mouth, trying to muffle his coughs as Frank wakes, already reaching for the bottle of water and Bob swings around his legs and sits. Gerard keeps rubbing Mikey's back, his own silent support.

~*~*~*~

Balanced on top of the ladder, Bob carefully trims the honeysuckle, snipping off the shoots that grow forward instead of staying twined around the lattice attached to the wall. It's not a job he particularly cares for, the bees are far too interested in what he's doing and he'd prefer to be at ground level rather than climbing on ladders, but he's got no choice. Frank's still at the Way's and Ray's in the middle of landscaping an entire flowerbed. Every few minutes he steps back and surveys the arrangement of plants and grasses, before going back in and making a minute change.

Looking over his shoulder, Bob watches as Ray swaps a bamboo for an elephant grass, frowning as he examines the new placement. Bob's sure they're back in the same place they were five minutes before, but he says nothing, just turns a little so he can see Brian, who's tackling his first solo lawn. So far he seems to be doing well, even if he does scowl at the mower and seems to be continuously muttering under his breath. Bob can't hear what he's saying, but knows it won't be polite.

Returning to his own job, Bob snips at another tendril, letting it drop to the ground as he swats at a bee that buzzes close to his head. Thankfully there's not much left to prune and with a last cut he pushes the secateurs into his pocket and climbs down, gathering the cuttings that are piled on the ground. Holding the bundle against his chest he heads for the compost heap that's tucked away at the back of the garden, throwing the cutting onto the grass clippings that are already there.

"Why stripes? That's what I fucking what to know." Bob grins when Brian approaches, his face red and the spikes of his hair flattened, a cigarette tucked behind one ear. His forehead is creased as he ensures the mower is straight, matching the stripes that decorate the lawn. "Who the fuck cares if your grass has stripes?"

"Mr. Bennet does," Bob says, and takes a moment to grab a bottle of water out of the cooler that's sitting in the shadow of the van. "Want a drink?"

He offers the bottle to Brian who shuts off the mower and holds out his hand. "I'm drier than a nun's pussy."

"Way to stay classy," Bob says, laughing when Brian throws back the bottle, the water arching from the open top.

"If you're going to water fight can you do it off the lawn?" Ray says, peering through a large grass. "It always takes forever to flatten the divots."

Brian tilts his head to one side, looking amused. "You often water fight?"

"Does he often water fight?" Stepping from behind the grass Ray puts his hands on his hips. "Between him and Frank I may as well offer an aquatic gardening service."

"That's because Frank is fucking insane," Bob says, because no matter what Ray says none of this is Bob's fault. Before he'd come here to work fights were fought with fists, not water. That things changed is totally down to Frank.

"You're both insane, sometimes I wonder how I keep this business at all," Ray says mildly, and he picks up his grass, ready to re-position it yet again.

"You keep it because you're the best gardener around." Taking the secateurs out of his shorts pocket, Bob looks at the remaining honeysuckle plants that cling along almost the whole side of the house. "You've also got kick-ass assistants."

"Frank has his moments," Ray says, sounding amused, the only part of him visible behind the grass his legs and two hands. "Thinking of, I take it we're going to the Way's after work."

"After we've been to Frank's, his mom's been making food for them." Bob moves the ladder and starts to climb, raising his voice so Ray and Brian can hear. "She's packed a bag for him, too. Apparently he's not going home until Mikey's better."

"Want me to pack you a bag, too?" Brian ask, his grin wide. Bob pretends he doesn't hear.

~~~~~

They leave work, but it still takes almost an hour before they get to the Way's; forty minutes of which is spent talking to Frank's mom and reassuring her Mikey really will be okay. Eventually, after a promise they'll pass on her good wishes and love, they leave with a bulging bag of Frank's clothes and enough home-made food to last weeks. Sitting in the van with three trays of lasagna on his lap, Bob leans against the door, his arm stretched along the open window.

It's a beautiful evening, the setting sun casting shadows that stretch across the road. Listening to Ray sing along to the radio, Brian squashed against his side, Bob feels perfectly happy, then unsettled when he realizes some of that happiness is because he's going to see Gerard -- because no matter what Brian seems to think, all Gerard can be is a friend. Bob's not going to complicate his life any further, and that means ignoring any feelings that are trying to be heard.

"Should we stop and get more groceries?" Ray drums his fingers against the steering wheel, keeping time with the song. "They could be out of juice."

"They've enough juice to last for a year," Bob says, fully understanding the need to provide provisions for Gerard and Mikey, because right now, they both look incredibly fragile, like two saplings that bend in the slightest breeze.

"I guess." Slowing for a stop sign Ray looks toward the back of the van. "I'll give the garden a look over while I'm there."

"You don't need my help, do you?" Brian asks, sounding so reluctant that Bob can't help but laugh. Brian turns in his seat as much as he can and jabs Bob hard in the side. "Fuck you, Bryar. When I close my eyes I still see fucking stripes in front of my eyes. Stripes. Who the hell needs stripes on their lawn?"

"My customers," Ray says easily. He pulls away and makes a left, his mouth twitching at one corner. "No gardening, promise. Not when you're off the clock."

Brian turns in the other direction, elbowing Bob in the ribs in the process. "Thank fucking God, but if you were stuck...."

"I'd ask Frank," Ray says with a grin, and goes back to tapping along to the song as they continue to drive, pulling outside of the Way's within five minutes.

"Is that a balloon tied to that unicorn?" Brian's staring past Bob and out of the side window, looking confused.

"It is," Bob says, and steps outside, juggling the lasagnas as he looks at the silver sparkly balloon, _Get Well Soon_ written on the side. "It'll be for Mikey from Frank."

"But couldn't Frank just take it in?" Brian walks toward the unicorn, looking up at the balloon that's swaying in the breeze.

"It's their thing, it's best not to ask," Ray says, and opens the back of the van so he can grab some of the food and Frank's bag.

"A unicorn thing." Brian prods the balloon, making it spin in the air before he comes back and gathers an armful of Tupperware dishes, each one filled with meals sent by Frank's mom.

"Seriously, don't ask." Opening the door with his elbow, Bob goes inside and sets the lasagnas on the counter. Pushing them toward the back he sees the kitchen looks unusually clean, and the window is pushed open, letting in the fresh air. Following the faint sound of music he goes into the living room, and finds Gerard curled up in the easy chair, his chin on his bent knees, while Mikey is still resting against the mound of pillows, Frank lying against him, an iPod in his hand and an ear bud each in their ears.

"Hey." Bob steps in the room, and Gerard looks up and pushes the hair out of his eyes.

"They're asleep," Gerard says, and he looks like he needs sleep himself, the skin under his eyes almost black with shadows. "I've been watching, making sure he's okay."

Bob walks over to the couch so he can see Mikey, who thankfully doesn't look as ill as he did the night before. "He looks a little better."

"Frank's looking after him, he makes sure he takes his medicine and keeps the Ewok full of hot water."

"And you've done nothing to help I suppose," Bob says, refusing to let Gerard dismiss his own efforts to look after Mikey.

Gerard rubs at his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Too little, too late."

"Bullshit," Bob says, keeping his voice low. "Stop with the self pity, already, you know Mikey would kick your ass for saying that. Now come on, Ray needs help in the garden."

Gerard's eyes widen. "And you want me to help?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?" Bob crosses his arms over his chest and waits for Gerard to move, silently sending an apology to Ray.

"Last time I helped I pulled up all the new seedlings."

"He's doing basic tidying today," Bob says, refusing to budge, because he knows Gerard won't have left the house today, hell, he'll be surprised if he's left this room. "Come on, you know he likes to talk plants."

"I need to watch Mikey," Gerard says, making no effort to move.

"Frank's here," Bob says, and spotting Brian moving in the kitchen, pushes the point. "And Brian wants an excuse to stay out of the garden. He can stay in here."

Apparently hearing his name, Brian comes into the room, but stays close to the door. "Gerard. How's Mikey doing?"

"Better I think, he doesn't cough as much as long as he lies still," Gerard says, his nervousness about someone new in his house fading as he gets to talk about Mikey. "If he wakes get him to drink some juice."

Brian shoots a look at Bob, obviously confused.

"Gerard's coming out to help in the garden, I told him you'd watch Mikey," Bob says, and hopes Brian gets what he's not saying. Thankfully, a history of communicating with few words means Brian walks further into the room, standing so he's close to Gerard.

"I'll get him to drink, promise."

"Okay, I guess I can go out then." Slowly, Gerard pushes himself upright using the arms of the chair. It's something that seems to need effort and Bob's kicking himself that he actually left this morning, but he couldn't leave Ray in the lurch and Gerard seemed to be coping as well as he could.

"Have you eaten?" Bob steps close, ready to catch Gerard if he stumbles, but he straightens up and with a last look at the couch, starts to leave the room.

"Frank made sandwiches, Gerard says, and attempts a smile at Ray, who's trying to stuff all the food in the small freezer. "Mikey ate half of one."

"What about you?" Bob asks, already planning what to make as a snack as he imagines Gerard picking at his food.

Gerard blinks against the golden light that floods into the room. "I had a sandwich too, Frank kept looking at me until I ate."

"Good." Satisfied Bob places his hand against the small of Gerard's back, urging him toward outside. He doesn't hold up much hope of keeping Gerard out there for long, but even five minutes will be better than nothing. "Come on, the weeds are waiting."

Once they get into the garden there's not that much to do, the plants are all hardy and Ray's been keeping them tidy, and even the grass is cut short -- without any stripes. Looking along the flower beds, Bob finally sees a clump of weeds, and heads straight for them, sinking to the grass in front of the bed. Hand shielding his eyes he looks over at Gerard, who's hovering near the doorway as if he's afraid to walk into the sun.

"Stop making like a vampire and come here." Bob pats the grass beside him and leans back on his hands as Gerard makes his way over the lawn and thumps to the ground in an ungainly heap. When he's settled, Bob points to the tiny green weeds just visible under the rows of marigolds and pansies. "See those? You need to pull them out."

"Okay." Gerard reaches out and grabs one of the weeds, tugging it free of the crumbly earth. He drops it on the grass and then goes for the next, his hand brushing against the vibrant petals of the flowers.

"Gerard," Bob says, and he's not sure if he should be even asking this yet, but it's the first time they've been alone for days and he decides to take a chance. "What color are the flowers?"

Pulling back his hand, Gerard runs his fingers over the top of the ruffled orange head of a marigold. "I know it's orange, my eyes see that. Orange like the sun on a late evening, but it's not orange at all." Gerard drops his head and takes his hand away from the flower. "I know it makes no sense, but it feels grey, my eyes see orange but my mind sees grey."

"Is everything like that?" Bob asks, hating the thought of Gerard seeing the world through a filter of grey, because the world is so much more, millions of colors that should be experienced and touched.

"Not always," Gerard says, his head resting on his hands. "Sometimes it's black, yesterday was black, my lungs were black and I couldn't breathe. Sometimes there's colors, mostly around Mikey, but sometimes you." Gerard looks up then, staring at Bob. "Sometimes you're break-throughs of blue."

It's Bob that looks away first, his heart beating fast. "You're going to see your therapist, yeah?"

"On Monday," Gerard says, and grabs hold of another weed, tugging it free with a jerk of his hand. "It won't do any good, it's just more money we can't afford and I do everything they say and it doesn't help and it's so fucking hard."

Bob reaches out, but stops before he touches Gerard. "No one ever said it would be easy."

"No one said it would be like this either." Without waiting for Bob to reply, Gerard gets to his feet. "I'm going in."

Bob gathers up the scattered weeds and watches him go.

~*~*~*~

A door slams but Bob doesn't turn around. He's sitting next to the unicorn and smoke from his cigarette floats past the balloon before being absorbed into the night air. The moon is out now, casting silvery light across the garden and Bob's enjoying the solitude after the crowd inside the house.

Brian sits next to Bob, his knees bent and back against the wall. "Hand over a smoke you fucking tight-ass."

"You've got your own," Bob points out, but is already taking out a cigarette, lighting it off his own. "Here you are you whiny pussy."

Taking a long drag, Brian lets the smoke escape from his mouth. "Whiny? I've been a fucking saint today. Between the striped lawns and nurse sitting duties I should get a medal."

"Tell it to someone that didn't see you sitting talking music with Mikey for an hour," Bob says, remembering finding Brian sitting on the end of the couch, scowling as he held out a glass of juice and telling Mikey he'd better drink or else.

Brian shrugs, says, "The kid's got decent taste in music. He said he'll introduce me around the scene, put the feelers out for a job."

"And here I thought gardening was your vocation," Bob says, banging his elbow against the unicorn when he jerks away from Brian's retaliatory punch.

"It's a job and I'll never forget Ray helping out, not many would," Brian says. He takes another drag of his cigarette and tilts his head, blowing smoke rings that float toward the dark sky.

"About that," Bob says, because somehow this moment is right for this question at last, when it's still and quiet and the air is full of the scent of summer.

"I've been waiting for you to ask," Brian says, sounding resigned, he tucks his legs up further, worrying at a thread hanging from a hole in the knee of his jeans. "Short story is I relapsed. Two years clean and I woke up in the drunk tank. Long story, I got into a bad relationship, he drank heavily and I thought I was strong enough to deal. Turns out I couldn't."

"You should have called me," Bob says, his stomach aching that in keeping one friend afloat he'd lost track of another.

"Yeah well, you had your new life and the more you talked about things here, the harder it got to admit I'd screwed up. Anyway, I know your pussy pansy ass, if I'd told you you'd have come back and I needed to hit rock bottom on my own. When I did that I sold all of my shit, used the money for rehab and then here I am."

"You still should have called."

"And said what?" Brian looks at Bob, and the end of his cigarette cuts glowing lines in the air as he moves his hand. "I've fucked up again, come watch as I throw my life away. Fuck that shit."

"I could have done something," Bob says. "I would have traveled back in an instant."

"Which is why I didn't call." Brian taps the cigarette, making ash fall to the ground. "I'm not your mom, you don't have to give up everything for me."

Bob clenches his hands, the wall that pushes back his anger crumbling. "I didn't give up everything for her."

"You know you did," Brian says, and doesn't look away, even when Bob tenses, wanting to fight. "You can get angry but you know I'm right, it's why I wasn't about to fuck you up more. You've a good thing going on here, even if you're a pussy and not telling Gerard."

"Because there's nothing to tell," Bob says, taking deep breaths until the anger begins to fade, because he knows that any issues he's holding onto have nothing to do with Brian. "I don't even think of him like that."

"You watch him all the time, you take any excuse to be with him. You're at home in his house as you are your own. Face it, you're interested, even if you're not admitting it to yourself."

"He's a friend, nothing more," Bob says, and begins to build another wall, this one pushing back the way he feels when Gerard is near. "Nothing's going to happen."

Brian shakes his head. "You're a fucking moron."

 

~*~*~*~

"You can't go to work yet, you're still not well," Gerard says, and stands in front of the door, as if he can physically stop Mikey from leaving.

"I've got no choice, we need the money," Mikey says flatly, and tugs up his pants that have slid down at the front.

"What if you get really sick again, or have a coughing fit and choke on your tongue? Or cough so much your lungs seize up." Picturing each instance, Gerard's heart is racing and his chest feels tight. "You need to stop here."

"No, I need to go to work." Mikey steps forward and reaches for Gerard, pulling him close, holding onto his arms as he rests his forehead against Gerard's. "I'll be fine, Gee. Promise. I told them I can't go to the clubs yet, but I have to go now."

"Frank's meeting you from work still?" Gerard says, feeling pathetic and helpless, like he needs Mikey to hold him up when he knows it should be the other way around. "And you're coming straight home."

"I am, and when I do you're going to tell me all about your appointment. No more secrets."

"No more secrets," Gerard repeats, and promises himself that he'll try.

"Good." Mikey pulls back then and picks up his bag, slinging it across his shoulder. "Tell the office that I'll drop in a check next week, and if they suggest a change in meds, take them, even if they do cost more. I'll find the money somehow."

A fleeting smile and Mikey's gone, leaving Gerard alone. It's the first time he's been perfectly alone in almost a week and the silence tugs at him, whispers about how easy it'll be to sleep, to slip downstairs and rediscover a place where he feels hidden. Fighting against that urge Gerard goes into the living room; where he doesn't have to see the stairs. There are still pillows piles on the couch and the humidifier has been pushed to one side, the Ewok hot water bottle lying on the floor.

The silver balloon floats half deflated in a corner and on the table in front of the couch are a selection of plates and mugs, books and comics and surprisingly, a sheet of paper left on top of them all. Moving closer Gerard sees it's a drawing, one of Mikey's, technically not good but easily recognizable as the unicorn from outside. Its tail colored blue and its horn yellow, while its hair is patches of color, everything from orange to pink. Its also carrying a bloodied zombie in its mouth, a thought bubble over its back. _You'll be fine today, the unicorn protects you. Mikey xoxo_

"Unicorn power, right," Gerard says, but still goes outside, acting on a hunch, where he finds a unicorn pin resting on the plaster unicorn's back. Picking it up, Gerard goes back inside, pinning it to the lapel of his jacket, and maybe it doesn't mean anything special, but it feels like it does, and Gerard will take anything that helps him get through the day.

~~~~~

Gerard presses his fingers against the unicorn pin as he sits at the kitchen table, looking at the bag of new medication. His therapist has given him enough samples to last a few weeks but after that they'll have to pay, along with the extra sessions it's been recommended that Gerard attends. Personally he can't see the point, an extra hour talking won't help him get better and he considers not telling Mikey what she said -- except, he made the promise of no more lies, Gerard's got no choice but to tell.

Upending the bag, Gerard spreads out the blister packs across the table, lines of small pills and he's hanging his life on each one. They have to help, because if they don't Gerard's got nothing, he's tried everything, done everything people say, and none of it works. He flicks at one of the packets, sending it spinning to the floor. Tempted to leave it there, he reaches down, and from under the table sees the door open, a pair of gum boots painted with sunflowers appearing in his line of vision.

"Are you trying to hide? Because I have to tell you, you're not doing very well," Frank says, and even though Gerard can't see Frank's face he knows he's smiling.

Gerard sits up and drops the pills on the table, looking across at Mikey and Frank. They're holding hands and Frank slows his pace as he walks across the kitchen and pulls out a chair, saying to Mikey, "Sit down."

"Are you okay?" Gerard asks. Mikey looks okay, tired, which is a constant lately, but Frank's fussing, only letting go of Mikey's hand so he can take off his bag before going to fill a glass with water.

"He went back to work too soon." Frank hands the water to Mikey. "He was sitting on the steps when I met him from work."

"I always sit on the steps," Mikey protests, taking a drink. He sets the glass on the table and takes off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. "How did your appointment go?"

Gerard lets the distraction go for now, knowing Frank won't let Mikey do too much. "It went okay, Jemma wasn't happy I didn't tell her about the other shit, but we talked and I've got new meds."

"Good," Mikey says, looking relieved. He puts back his glasses and reaches for the packs on the table, turning one around to read. "She gave you samples?"

"Enough for a few weeks." Gerard hesitates, seeing how Mikey's frowning as he reads. "She recommended I go for extra sessions, just while I'm changing meds."

"That makes sense," Mikey says, but Gerard can tell he's already mentally calculating costs, because even if they do pay on a sliding scale, it still adds up.

"I can say no," Gerard says, and isn't surprised when Mikey immediately shakes his head.

"If she thinks you should go you're going, I'll work it out somehow."

Gerard sits back in his chair, the hard back digging into his side as he turns, says, "You shouldn't have to."

"Maybe," Mikey says, and he pushes the pills to the middle of the table. "I don't mind."

But you should," Gerard protests, and he doesn't even know why he's doing this, just it's been a long day and the residual guilt about Mikey is clinging and all Gerard wants is to be a good big brother but each time he tries he fails. "You should be at school, not working and looking after me."

"I like my job, and you're my brother, I'd never not look after you," Mikey says, looking frustrated.

Gerard tries to stop talking, aware of how uncomfortable Frank looks as he hovers close to Mikey, but Gerard can't seem to stop the words spewing out. "Looking after me made you sick. If it wasn't for me you'd be happy somewhere."

"I'm happy now," Mikey says, and he's got his hands pressed against the table, his fingers white. "I always will when I've got you and Frank."

"No." Gerard shakes his head, because Mikey doesn't understand. He thinks he's happy, but he's not, he can't be when he's struggling to keep a roof over their head and having to deal with Gerard. "You can't be, not when I'm such a burden."

"Don't say that." Mikey moves closer to Gerard, reaching out for him. "You've _never_ been a burden."

"I spend most of my time in the basement, I don't cook for you or clean house or do anything normal people are supposed to do. I can't even look after myself never mind you." Heart racing, Gerard runs his hands through his hair, guilt-ridden and so fucking scared all he wants to do is curl up in a ball.

Mikey slips to the floor then, kneeling as he wraps his arms around Gerard, his head against Gerard's chest. "You don't need to look after me, I can look after myself, and normal is fucking over-rated."

Gerard clings to the words and the feel of Mikey holding him close, light against the dark that's pulling him down. "You could look after yourself better if I wasn't here, you and Frank could have this place, you wouldn't miss me."

Gerard isn't really thinking about what he's saying, the words tumbling out, but he feels the way Mikey tenses before scrambling back, sending a chair clattering to the floor as he gets to his feet.

"Don't you say that. Don't you ever fucking say that!" Mikey yells, his anger sudden and unexpected. When Frank moves in close, trying to touch, Mikey flinches away, attention solely on Gerard, and Gerard doesn't understand why Mikey looks so stricken, like Gerard's said something terrible.

"I don't...."

"Don't say you can't remember, I know you remember." Mikey has his hands clenched as he takes another step back, as if he can't bear to be close. "Just because we don't talk about it doesn't mean it didn't happen."

Gerard grips hold of the table as the memories push forward, fear and self-hate, the burn of alcohol and the glint of the razor against his skin -- a night when he reached his limit and tumbled right over. It's a night they haven't mentioned since, immediate pain lost in the darkness and then time. "I'm sorry."

"You don't even know what you're sorry about," Mikey yells, and Mikey doesn't shout -- ever, all Gerard wants to do is grab hold and keep saying sorry, but he knows it won't help. He sits frozen, trying to breathe as Mikey keeps yelling. "You say I wouldn't miss you, and that you shouldn't be here, but I would. Just thinking about you not being here carves out my fucking heart, that night was the worst one of my life, Gee, nothing since has come close. And you know the funny part? When I came back and found you'd moved out of bed I was pleased, I thought you were feeling better."

Gerard swallows hard. He doesn't want to remember this, confused memories of cold and utter despair as he lay on the bathroom floor, his arms tucked against his chest and wanting to die.

Mikey keeps talking, his expression set. "We never talk about it, but I can remember everything. How I went in the bathroom and you were lying on the floor and there was a razor in the tub, just lying there in the blood. I thought you were dead." Frank steps forward again, wrapping his arms around Mikey, holding on as Mikey lowers his voice and takes frequent shuddering gasps for air. "I thought I'd lost you, I thought you'd gone too and I pushed my way into the room and touched your neck, like I knew what I was fucking feeling for, and you were hardly breathing. You just lay there, and I shouted for you, I shouted for you not to leave me, and you just lay there and then you moved." Nauseous, Gerard puts his hand against his mouth, he can't see the faint scars that run across his arm, but he knows they're there, he can feel them itch under his skin. "I kicked away the empty vodka bottle and wrapped towels around your arms, and ran next door for help."

"Mikey," Frank starts to say, but Mikey shakes his head and pulls away, only looking at Gerard.

"You know what else I remember? How they looked at me when they arrived, the pity in their eyes as they helped me get you into their car and the silence as we drove to the clinic, and you never woke up. Not once." Mikey takes another shuddering breath and wraps his arms across his chest. "Sometimes...sometimes I wonder if I should have told them the truth and not some bullshit excuse about you falling on glass. Maybe you would have got help sooner then, but I didn't, just stood there and watched them stitch you up."

"No," Gerard says, hating how Mikey sounds so guilty. "You did what you had to do."

"I brought you back, convinced them that I'd look after you," Mikey says, and Gerard has vague memories of being helped inside, Mikey's haunted expression as he followed holding an armful of bloody towels. "We got you into bed, and I sent them home and went to the bathroom to clean up. It was so hot and I was so tired and all I wanted was to sleep but I couldn't, I scrubbed the blood out of the tub and threw away the razor and washed the mat where you'd pissed yourself."

"I'm sorry," Gerard says again and Mikey nods abruptly.

"I know, you're always sorry, Gee, I know that, but don't ever say I wouldn't miss you, because that's not true, it'll be never be true, no matter what you do," Mikey says, his eyes wet. "You're my big brother and I love you and I don't know what to do, I'm trying so hard and if I could I'd take it on for you but I can't. So let me look after you the way I can."

"Okay," Gerard says, his head swimming from the effort of staying upright. "I wish, I wish I could be different."

"I don't want you to be different," Mikey says quietly, and starts to back toward the door. "I want you to be you, but happy. I miss you."

He turns then, almost running, and Gerard hears the door slam from in the kitchen. Expecting Frank to follow, Gerard's surprised when instead he moves close and holds out his hand.

"Come on."

"What?" Gerard says, and his head feels like it's stuffed with cotton.

"We're going after him," Frank says, and Gerard notices that he's varnished his nails rainbow colors, his thumb nail decorated with a happy-faced sun.

"You can move faster yourself," Gerard says, and tucks his hands under his armpits, trying to hide how he's shaking.

Frank crouches down, looking serious. "I don't know much about this, just it fucking sucks, for both of you and you're feeling terrible right now, but Mikey's just ran out of the house and he needs you."

Gerard tucks his chin close to his chest, letting his hair fall into his eyes. "He doesn't need me."

"Bullshit," Frank says. "I know I should be all sympathetic and shit but he worships the ground you walk on and you're sitting here when he's out there. You need to go after him, I'll be with you."

Gerard tries to think of how to explain that it's not that easy. He's been out once today and he doesn't know if he can manage it again, but Frank's not moving, just remains still, watching and looking so young. Unlike Mikey, who despite being that little bit older looks like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. Gerard rests his hands on his pin as he gathers energy and abruptly stands. "Let's go."

"Great." Frank says, staying close to Gerard as they leave the house, grabbing Mikey's jacket from the hook on the wall. It's cooler outside, the sun starting to set and Gerard looks both ways, hoping he'll see Mikey.

"I don't know where he's gone," Gerard says, looking back at the house.

"Yeah you do." Frank moves so he's in front of Gerard, walking backwards. "You know him better than anyone. Where would he go?"

Clutching Mikey's jacket, Gerard looks around, thinking of the places Mikey used to hide. There's not many, as soon as he was old enough Mikey moved to hanging out at the clubs, but there is a small playground, in the park a few blocks away. It's where they used to go when they were kids, on the days their mom actually let them out alone. "The playground."

"Of course," Frank says, and something flashes across his face, an expression so satisfied that Gerard doesn't ask how Frank knew it was there. They begin to walk, side by side usually, but Frank repeatedly darts forward so he can look in the gardens they pass on the way. Once he stops, plucking a flower from a bush, threading it through the buckle of his overalls. Ducking his head, he smells the flower. "It's a violet satin hibiscus, they need to feed it more, though. It's not as healthy as it should be."

"You should put one of Ray's cards through the door," Gerard says, surprised when Frank pushes his hand in his pocket and pulls out a plain white business card, _Ray's Gardening Firm_ and contact details printed on the front.

"I keep telling him to get new ones, these are boring." Frank frowns, and then runs up to the mail box, dropping the card inside. "They should be flowers on it at least, lots of them."

"Not too many," Gerard says, and keeps walking, needing to get to the park. "It would get cluttered and lose the text. He needs something simple and stylish."

"What he needs is an artist," Frank says, increasing his pace. "Shame we don't know one."

Gerard pushes his hands in his pocket, he knows what Frank's hinting, but Gerard can't draw right now, even if he does owe Ray so much, not when everything is so flat. He looks up, sees that they're approaching the iron gates into the park, and hopes desperately that they'll find Mikey inside. "I didn't mean to hurt him."

"He knows that," Frank says, going with the subject change. "He's just....shit, I'm not telling any secrets, but it's been hard for him lately. Being sick was the last straw."

"I know," Gerard says, and he does, he's seen how Mikey's struggled and he hates himself for being unable to help.

"Did Mikey go to his prom?" It's an abrupt change in conversation and for a moment Gerard doesn't reply, just looks at Frank who seems anxious as he worries at his lip-ring.

"It's not really his thing," Gerard says, and Frank should know this, Gerard's got no idea why he's asking. "He got asked I think, but he said no."

Frank doesn't look surprised and he taps his fingers against his mouth, his forehead furrowed. "I thought so." He drops his hand then, opening the gate and taking the path that leads through the small corpse of trees, past the graffiti covered bandstand to the swings and small metal climbing frame that's supposed to count as a kid's play-park.

"I think. There he is." Relief hits hard and Gerard falters a little as Frank steps close. "I don't know what to say, how to make this right."

"He won't expect you to put things right," Frank says, and he stops walking next to a wooden bench that's missing two of its slats in the seat. "Go and see him."

"You're staying here?" Gerard asks, but he's already moving forward, because even if he doesn't know what to say this is Mikey, and seeing him sitting on a swing, shoulders hunched and head down is breaking Gerard's heart.

Frank tucks up his legs, his heels pressed against one of the slats. "I'll be there in a little while."

"Okay," Gerard says, and keeps walking. Past the flowerbeds filled with roses, the petals already littering the ground and plastic wrapped around their stems, over the grass which is more brown than green, and finally into the little play-park, the swings surrounded by benches and overflowing garbage cans.

Mikey's pushing himself on the swing, swaying back and forth, his hands wrapped around the chains. He looks up when Gerard gets close, says, "I'm sorry."

"You've nothing to be sorry for." Sitting on a red plastic swing, Mikey's jacket on his lap, Gerard digs his toes in the ground and starts to swing.

"I shouldn't have said all that shit," Mikey says. He's resting his head against his arm and the chain is throwing a shadow across his face, links crossing his mouth and eye. "I was just tired, and it came out."

Gerard stretches out his leg so he can touch Mikey's ankle with the toe of his sneaker. "Didn't we agree no secrets?"

"You're applying that retroactively?" Mikey says. "That's a little unfair."

"Welcome to life," Gerard says, and rests his head against the chain. "I never meant to hurt you like that."

"I know, and I'm sorry for running off." Mikey stops swinging, planting his feet against the ground. "It was a little melodramatic."

Gerard forces a smile. "Well, you learned from the best." He stands then, says, "You ready to go home?"

"More than ready," Mikey admits, and he pulls on his jacket when Gerard hands it over. "We're going to be okay?"

There's a lot Gerard could reply to the question, and that's if he takes it to mean only one thing, but the problem is, most of those questions Gerard can't answer, except for one, and he hopes that's what Mikey's asking. He straightens Mikey's collar and pulls him into a quick hug. "We'll always be fine."

Mikey smiles, says, "Good."

~*~*~*~

"There they are," Ray says, and pulls the van up to the curb. Lowering the window, Bob watches Gerard approach. He's walking between Mikey and Frank, looking closed-off and nervous, his steps slow as Frank chatters about something that makes Mikey nearly smile. When they get close, Bob opens the door of the van, about to step outside, then hesitates when Ray speaks. "I was thinking, if you dropped us off at my place you could take the van."

One foot on the sidewalk, Bob turns in his seat so he can see Ray, who looks grimy, tired but perfectly cheerful as he leans back in his seat. "And I'd need the van, why?"

"I was thinking you could take Gerard out for a drive," Ray says, and starts flicking through the radio stations, looking for a song he enjoys.

Suspicious, Bob pokes Brian hard in the side. "Have you been talking to Ray?"

Brian scowls. "I always talk to Ray, he's my boss, he's teaching me how to make fucking lawn stripes."

"I don't mean that kind of talking," Bob says, but he doesn't get to say what kind he does mean because Gerard, Mikey and Frank have arrived at the van, and are standing looking inside.

"Have you fitted us with tracking chips?" Mikey asks, looking interested.

"Damn, you've caught me," Bob says, and steps fully outside, meeting Mikey's look. "I implanted them while you were sick."

Mikey scratches at the back of his neck, and Frank laughs, says, "I phoned them." Bob braces himself then, seeing that Frank's about to pounce, which he does, charging past Mikey and Gerard before jumping at Bob. "And now you're here, like a conquering hero."

Standing still until Frank has scrambled around to his back, Bob holds securely onto Frank's legs. "I guess that makes you the maiden, then."

"I could be a maiden," Frank says, leaning forward and tucking his chin against Bob's shoulder. "Not a virginal one, though."

"Don't you fucking dare." When Bob looks to the side all he sees is a shock of scarlet hair and Frank's wide grin as he giggles in Bob's ear. "One word about your sex life and I'm going to drop you on your head."

"You know you love hearing about it." Frank tightens his hold, clinging on as Bob tries to dump him to the ground. "I haven't said anything about how chocolate rubbers taste rank or how we went shopping for toys last week."

"Seriously, on your head," Bob says, and pointedly turns away when he sees Brian's moved into the window seat, and is looking outside, laughing at Bob and Frank.

"You love me, you know you do," Frank says, and presses a sloppy kiss against Bob's cheek before sliding down so he can stand next to Mikey. "I'm going to take my hot boyfriend and make him some soup."

Still peering out of the open window, Brian grins, says, "Is that what they'll calling it now?"

"Don't encourage him," Bob says, and tries to bite back his own laughter when he catches sight of Gerard's reaction.

"I don't..." Worrying at the hem of his shirt, Gerard looks between Frank and Mikey. "I don't think you should do that. Not yet. It's too much exertion and....."

"Don't worry," Mikey interrupts, taking pity on Gerard. "I'm going home for a nap."

"And some soup," Frank says, and while he's not holding hands or doing anything overt like he would at home, he is standing close, his hand brushing against Mikey's.

"In that case, I'm taking Gerard for a drive," Bob says and hopes that Gerard will actually say yes.

A sweep of his hands, and Gerard indicates his ragged jeans and damp shirt, says, "I'm not dressed to go anywhere."

"We'll match then," Bob says, having no intention of changing his own outfit, because shorts and a t-shirt are fine to hit a drive-through and a little dirt never hurt anyone. Opening the van door, almost making Brian fall out in the process, Bob steps aside, knowing Gerard has to make this choice on his own. "We'll have to drop off Brian and Ray first, but after that I'm yours."

For a long moment Gerard hesitates, then Mikey steps forward and whispers something in his ear. Bob isn't sure what, but it's enough to get Gerard moving, and he gets into the van, shutting the door.

"We'll be a few hours," Bob says, and then climbs into the back of the van, sharing space with a giant yucca plant and three bags of compost, which aren't the comfiest of seats, but as Bob sits forward and steadies himself, Bob finds he doesn't mind at all.

~~~~

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Brian says, he standing on the sidewalk outside of Ray's house, grinning wide as Bob tries to stretch the kinks out of his back.

"We're going to McDonalds," Bob says, straightening up and kicking out at Brian's leg.

Brian jumps back, easily keeping out of the way. "Admittedly McDonalds isn't my choice for a hot date, but whatever turns you on."

"It's not a date," Bob hisses, checking to make sure Gerard can't hear. "I'm just taking him out of the house for a while, he's had a hard day."

"Maybe," Brian concedes. "But admit it, you like getting him alone."

Bob's not about to admit any such thing, even if it is true -- which it's not. He turns back to the van and smiles reassuringly at Gerard, who's looking out of the window, his mouth curved down and hair hanging into his eyes, then back to Brian. "At least I'm not spending the evening going over tax returns."

"That shit's important," Brian says, always serious about figures. "And it's not like I've any other options, considering you're abandoning me _again_."

Bob can't help feeling guilty, with staying at Gerard and Mikey's for almost a week he's never had a chance to spend one-on-one time with Brian lately, they're either working or hanging with the others. "You can come if you want, I'll even spring for a burger."

"Sure, that won't be awkward," Brian says, looking at Bob as if he's some kind of idiot. "No, you go and play your game of mis-placed denial, I'm going to stay here and eat pizza and explain the fine points of e-filing for self-employed business owners."

"Sounds fascinating," Bob says, and the thing is, he knows to Brian it is fascinating, much more so than the growing cycle of plants or the correct pruning technique for rose bushes.

Brian pushes his hand through his hair, teasing it back up into untidy spikes as he looks over at Ray, who's leaning against the wall with one hand as he takes off his boots. "It is, now go, start your non-date. You can tell me all about staring at each other and pretending you don't want to jump each other's bones when you get back."

"I hate you," Bob says, and on principal tries to kick Brian again, the toe of his boot scraping past denim as Brian hurries away with a last grin. Flipping him off, Bob gets into the van, adjusting the seat before twisting around and pushing at the Yucca so its leaves aren't brushing against his neck. "McDonald's okay? I'm fucking starving."

"That's fine." Gerard's clinging onto his seat-belt, and his fingernails are bitten short, the edges ragged.

Checking the mirror, Bob pulls out onto the road, he's got the radio turned low and the early evening sun has turned everything golden, the breeze that comes through the window carrying the scent of the multiple kinds of flowers that Ray's planted along the verges of his house. It leaves Bob feeling calm, but Gerard's obviously not, just bites at the edge of his thumb nail as he stares outside.

"Mikey looks better," Bob says, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Gerard tense. He's also not replying and Bob's trying to work out what's wrong from the things that Frank said and Gerard's reaction. It's obviously something to do with Mikey, but that still leaves thousands of possibilities. "How did his first day back go?"

"He went back too early," Gerard says, and while Bob agrees, he doesn't say that out loud. He knows they're hurting financially, and how Mikey's been battling to get Gerard onto disability. Going back to work was the only choice Mikey had.

"But he's okay?" Bob asks. He thinks Mikey looks okay, still too pale and thin but if he wasn't okay he doubts Gerard and Frank would have let him out of the house once he was home. Still, it never hurts to check.

"Apart from having me as a brother, you mean?" Gerard says flatly, cluing Bob into that this isn't anything to do with Mikey, but everything about Gerard. Considering his options, he keeps driving toward McDonalds, thankful it's only a short drive. Gerard needs to talk, and sometimes the best way to do that isn't face to face.

"Brian ran over a stone tortoise with the mower, today," Bob says, keeping things light for now. "The blades took off its head and sent it flying. We found it in the next door's garden."

"Mmmm," Gerard says, and Bob keeps talking.

"Brian got so mad he kicked the tortoise and snapped off a leg. Ray had to go buy a new one and said he'd take the cost out of Brian's pay, but that's not going to happen. He's too much of a soft touch." Which is something Bob knows all too well and he can't help smiling as he thinks of Ray, who within a year has become one of Bob's best friends. "Brian's helping with the books tonight; supposedly." Personally Bob thinks they'll end up watching TV and discussing music, and while he'd never admit it to Brian, he's glad, they both deserve an evening of just kicking back.

Seeing the giant yellow M, Bob pulls into the lane to get to McDonalds. It's the same one where he met Ray and Frank the day he was taken on in his job and in a way it feels like yesterday while being a lifetime before. Driving past the outside tables with their red umbrellas he remembers waiting and hoping he'd get the job, with no idea how his life was about to change. Briefly considering stopping and eating at the tables, Bob dismisses the idea as too public and keeps driving, asks, "What do you want to eat?"

"I've got no money." Gerard ducks his head and Bob fights against the urge to tuck his fingers under Gerard's chin and make him stop hiding.

"You don't need any, I'm paying," Bob says, heading for the drive-through. It's hours since he ate his sandwiches at lunch and his stomach growls at the smell of grease and cooked meat. Slowing down, he approaches the first window, where a young girl is waiting. She's wearing a cap, her dark hair spilling out at the back and she's got a blue band-aid wrapped around her finger, visible when she opens the window when the van approaches. She pulls on a smile when Bob stops.

"Can I take your order, please?"

"Grilled Chicken Classic Sandwich meal with diet coke, please." Bob turns to Gerard, says, "Do you want the same?" Gerard nods, and Bob turns back to the girl. "Make that two."

"That'll be twelve dollars", the girl says, and hands Bob a bag containing napkins and two straws. Taking them, he places them on the dash and digs out his wallet, handing over the money before driving on to the next window where a man is already waiting, a bag of food and a holder containing two drinks standing on the counter. Picking them up, the man hands them over.

"Thanks," Bob says, and passes the food and drinks to Gerard, who balances them both on his knee, his hands fisted around the top of the bag.

Pulling away from the drive-through, Bob considers where to stop, but hunger makes his choice for him and he pulls up at the very edge of the parking lot, away from any other cars and overlooking the road the heads back into the center of town. He parks up and turns off the engine, then unfastens his seat-belt before taking the bag of food. Picking out a burger and fries he sets them on the dash before giving the bag back to Gerard.

"You should eat before they get cold." Opening the box of his burger, Bob picks it up and takes a bite, chewing as Gerard pulls out a fry, putting it in his mouth and eating so slowly that by the time Bob's finished his sandwich Gerard's still only managed a handful of fries. "Not hungry?"

Gerard drops the fry he's holding back into the bag, says, "Sorry."

"It's okay," Bob says, and eats some of his fries, enjoying the salty taste, then says, "You want to tell me about today?"

The bag crumples under Gerard's fingers. "Not really."

Bob keeps looking forward and sucks his fingers which are greasy and covered with salt. "Think it would help if you told me?"

"I don't know," Gerard says, sounding so defeated that all Bob wants to do is turn around and take him home where he feels safe. But if Bob's learned anything it's that sometimes you have to push, and he doesn't want this to be yet another thing that Gerard's keeping inside. It's something Bob discovered at his lowest, when he was so full of rage and helplessness that it felt like he could burst.

"I've never told you about my mom." It's not what Bob intended to say, but it feels right, like this is the time to share. Pushing away the box of half-eaten fries he turns in his seat so he can see Gerard. "She was depressed too, not officially, not at first. She never stopped functioning and she always tried her hardest to get things done, but sometimes that wasn't enough." Bob stomach lurches as he remembers coming home from school and having to make his own dinner when his dad was at work and his mom lying in bed, the covers pulled up so all he could see was her hair and eyes. "It kept getting worse and dad needed to work, so I looked after her. When I got home from school and most weekends."

"That must have been hard," Gerard says, his voice soft.

"It was," Bob admits. "She was my mom and was supposed to be looking after me, but at her worst I was having to make sure she ate and look after the house. I loved her, but I was so angry, at her and the doctors who said nothing was wrong. She was spending whole days crying and they said she was down and dad should take her on vacation." Anger flairs, bright and sudden as Bob remembers those words. He breaths in deep, pushing the past back where it belongs. "My point is, I hit my own bad times back then, when I was furious at the world, but what helped was Brian making me talk."

"He was your sponsor?" Gerard asks, and Bob remembers telling him about meeting Brian at group.

Bob shakes his head, picturing the first time he saw Brian, sitting on the steps outside the community hall, scowling at the ground, a lit cigarette in his mouth and his jeans holed, exposing his bony knee. "He'd instigated a bar brawl, the anger management course was a condition of his probation. I joined on his fifth week."

"And you became friends?"

"Not then, I wasn't ready to be anyone's friend. All I wanted was to hit out at the world and keep hitting." Bob looks off into the distance, remembering how Brian latched on and wouldn't leave, until all Bob wanted to do was punch him in the face. "Then one week mom was finally diagnosed and I was so relieved when he said hello I said hi back. It went from there."

"You call her now, right?" Gerard says, and Bob knows what he's asking.

"Every night," Bob says. "She was lucky and found a doctor and a combination of medication that helped, she's happy now, the real kind of happy, not the kind where you pretend."

"Sometimes I pretend to be happy," Gerard says, so quietly that Bob can barely hear. "But it's hard, because I can't remember how, not exactly."

Despite suspecting he knows the answer, Bob asks, "Does it help?"

"It feels like I'm living in 2D, smiles painted on with nothing behind." Gerard bites at the side of his thumb, licking at a droplet of blood, and his expression is schooled, giving nothing away. "Mikey told me something today. About when he found me in the bathroom and I'd cut my arms with a razor. We never talk about it and sometimes I think it's just another bad dream because I wouldn't, I'd never leave Mikey, but I did, I tried. My parents were gone and I was so sad and I couldn't breathe."

"If you'd tried for real you'd be dead now," Bob says, and rests his hand on Gerard's arm, fingertips on the tiny silvery scars. "A cry for help doesn't mean you wanted to die."

Gerard pulls his arm away. "No, it means I was self-centered and selfish."

"Or it means you're strong," Bob says, meeting Gerard's disbelieving look. "You're still going, you're still living and that means you're fucking strong, no matter what you think."

"I think you've got more faith in me than I have in myself," Gerard says, and leans forward, his head in his hands. "I don't know if I can do this."

"You don't have a choice." Moving across the seats, Bob puts his arm around Gerard's back, feeling the way he's breathing hard and the way the material of his shirt is clinging with sweat. "Don't give up, not now."

Gerard looks up and it's like every shield he hides behind has been stripped back, leaving him looking exposed that Bob's heart lurches with the knowledge he'd do anything to protect him. "I'll try."

Bob pulls Gerard into a fierce hug, says, "Good."

~*~*~*~

Gerard lies on his bed, a comic open on his chest. He's been trying to read but doesn't have the concentration, his eyes skipping over words until he eventually gives up and lies still, listening to the sound of Mikey moving around upstairs. Gerard isn't sure what he's doing, but whatever it is it involves a lot of pacing. From living room to kitchen, and Gerard tries to count each step, numbers slipping from his mind as he drifts into sleep.

He wakes when he hears someone knock at the door, Gerard isn't sure when, time means nothing right now and despite his promise to Bob, Gerard hopes nobody comes downstairs, not yet, when Gerard's head aches and his skin feels too tight and the world keeps shrinking as he falls.

Knees tucked up, hands under his cheeks, Gerard looks at the world through the veil of his hair, his breathing shallow as shadows moves, creeping across the wall. It's only when he smells the paint that Gerard moves, the scent calling him like a memory of happier times. Gathering energy, he rolls on his side and leavers himself off the bed, heading for the stairs. Holding onto the banister he hauls himself up, his footsteps heavy, but when he reaches the kitchen he finds it's empty. Frank's jacket lying on the back of the chair, Ray's keys on the counter. Pulling on his resolve, Gerard goes to the next step of stairs and keeps climbing, and he can hear Bob talking, the sound of Frank laughing, and all the time, the smell of paint.

"Gerard, hi." Ray looks out of Gerard's parent's old room. His hair is pulled back and there's a streak of white paint from his ear to the back of his head, he's also got paint on his nose, and wipes at it ineffectively as Gerard looks into the room as Ray says, "We thought we'd get the base coat done at least."

Inside the room is ordered chaos. Frank standing on top of a ladder, holding a paint tray and roller, his face and arms speckled with white. Close by, Brian's sitting on the floor, painting above the baseboards, his tongue sticking out as he carefully cuts in. Bob seems to be painting the middle, wielding a large brush while Mikey's sitting on the sheet-covered bed, looking disgruntled.

"They wouldn't let me paint," Mikey says, and shifts over slightly as he looks at Gerard.

"Good." Gerard walks into the room and sits down, tucking up his legs when Ray walks by and picks up a big pot of paint. "You're supposed to be resting."

Frank turns on the ladder, wobbling dangerously and a dollop of paint lands on Brian's head. "That's what I said. He needs to sit there and do nothing."

"And I am," Mikey says, and he leans against Gerard. "I like decorating."

"I know you do," Gerard says, patting Mikey's arm. "But you need to rest."

"Resting sucks." Mikey sighs and pushes his glasses up his nose and says quietly, so only Gerard can hear. "I know you wanted to do this, but they wanted to help."

"It's okay," Gerard says, reassuring Mikey. "I'll do the details, the vampires and shit. That's the best part."

"It is," Mikey agrees. "You'll make them look awesome."

Gerard tries to imagine vampires painted on the walls, bloody fangs and dark red skies, but each time he tries the images are lost in the fog -- Gerard pushes his hands under his thighs and tries to stop shaking.

 

~*~*~*~

"Mikey never went to his prom," Frank says. He's sitting on the side of the pond, his boots off and feet in the water. One of his pants legs has rolled down and the fabric is changing color, denim going from light to dark blue.

Busy installing a recessed light to the gaudy gold carp in the middle of the fountain, Bob screws on the protective cover, water lapping around his knees as he moves. "You've stopped working to tell me that?"

"No," Frank says, and kicks his legs, making waves roll towards Bob. "I stopped work because I need a favor."

A last turn to secure the light, and Bob straightens so he can look at Frank. "You're not using my place again."

"I told you, that was an accident, we meant to clean up." Frank waves his hand dismissively, but instead of his usual laughter he looks perfectly serious, and Bob suspects this favor is something that means a lot.

Picking his tools out of the carp's mouth, Bob carefully moves back to the side of the pond and sits, his toes curled against the slime-filmed liner at the bottom. "What kind of favor?"

Frank hesitates, and he's picking at the grass they're sitting on, letting the blades fall to the ground like green rain. "Setting stuff up, like lights and shit."

Confused, Bob thinks back on their conversation, seeing if there's something he's missed. "Lights for where?"

"For Mikey's prom." Frank looks defiantly at Bob. "I know you'll think it's a stupid idea because it's not his thing, and I know that, I do. But he's never had one and it'll be our anniversary soon and someone should do something special just for him."

"And what anniversary's that? Ten months and seven days," Bob says unable to resist teasing. He grins when Frank scowls. "I know, it'll be a year, but why a prom? You could take him out for dinner or a show, that's more his speed, yours too."

"It's stupid." Frank's looking down at his lap, and Bob's hardly seen him like this, unsure about the things he's saying. It's a vivid reminder that no matter how confident Frank appears, he is younger and Bob kicks at his foot underwater, making water slop onto the grass.

"You tell me stupid things all the time, spill."

"I tell you awesome things," Frank corrects, worrying at the ragged hem of his t-shirt. "It's just. He does all these things, working and looking after Gee and worrying about money. I thought, if he could have one night of doing something like normal kids do. Get dressed up and have stupid pictures taken and go dancing." Frank groans, putting his head in his hands. "It's a stupid idea."

"It's a little out of left field," Bob admits, and he can't imagine Mikey dressed up in a tux to attend the usual kind of high-school prom, but he can't imagine that Frank would ever want to organize the usual high school prom and at heart it comes down to Bob would do anything to make them happy. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Frank looks up then, his mouth curling into a smile. "I was thinking about having it in the garden, we could string lights and put up a gazebo and have music and food."

"You want to have this thing in the Way's garden?" If Bob was smart he'd be saying how it's an crazy idea, that the garden is too small and too public and Frank's insane for ever thinking Mikey would ever go. What Bob _is_ thinking is how the garden center has gazebos he could borrow and how it would be possible to install lights and speakers. "When's your anniversary?"

"Next weekend," Frank says. "I know it's not much time, but things have been busy and then Mikey got sick and...."

"I'll do it," Bob interrupts, which is a fatal mistake, because seconds later Frank's grinning as he pounces, and with a huge splash, they both fall in the pond -- again.

~~~~~

"If we install the gazebo in this back corner it'll be more private, and I was thinking we need to put up screens along the front wall to block off the road." Ray points at his hand-drawn plan of the Way's garden, brows pulled together as he marks on the screens. "If we use lattice we can add lights and flowers. It shouldn't cost that much."

"It'll cost enough," Brian says. He's got a pencil behind one ear, a note book open in front of him as he notes down figures. "You're never going to run this business to a profit."

Ray shrugs, says, "As long as I can pay wages."

"You can," Brian says, "but you could be investing or saving this money."

"I could be doing lots of things," Ray says, and gets up from the sofa, wandering into the kitchen with his empty coffee mug. "Helping Frank is top of that list."

"And you really think Mikey's going to go for this?" Brian asks, sounding unsure. "I've only known the kid a few weeks, but he doesn't strike me as the prom type."

"He's not," Bob says. "Neither's Frank."

Brian looks puzzled. "So why do it?"

"Because he asked." Bob leans forward and picks up his mug, taking a drink. It's the same mug he uses every time he's at Ray's, a picture of Garfield eating lasagna printed on the sides, and Bob likes that it's always here, ready for when he comes over. "And because Mikey'll love it."

"Fair enough." Brian slides forward so he's sitting on the edge of his seat, leaning over as he looks at the plans and lists of figures. "Is it possible to hire lattice screens? It'll cut down the outlay."

"Not normally," Bob says, and grins down at his coffee. "But I can make a call and arrange something I'm sure."

"You slept with him, didn't you?" Ray's carrying his mug in one hand and a box of doughnuts in the other. Setting them down on the table he takes his seat on the sofa and fixes Bob with a look. "The garden center manager, it's the only thing that fits."

"Credit me with some taste," Bob protests, and flips open the box, grabbing a chocolate-topped doughnut. He takes a big bite, ignoring the way Ray's watching and waiting.

"So what is it, then?!" Ray picks up his own doughnut and pink sprinkles fall to the ground when he points at Bob. "You've got something on him."

"I'm a good customer is all," Bob says, licking chocolate frosting with the corner of his mouth. He looks at the plans again, picturing the Way's garden. "We should light up the dragon bird bath."

"And the unicorn," Brian adds, and scowls when both Bob and Ray look his way. "What? I've got eyes, I know it's a big deal for them. Why they're gone over a fucking ugly stone unicorn I don't know, but they are."

"It's a good idea," Bob says, wondering at the logistics at lighting up its horn. "They think it's magic and we can make it look magic."

Brian grins wide, elbowing Bob hard in the side. "Magic, you've gone fucking soft, Bryar."

Bob elbows him right back. "Tell me you're not working out a play-list."

Brian takes a bite of his doughnut in reply.

~*~*~*~

Carefully, Gerard pours a cupful of water onto the plant on the kitchen windowsill. Setting down the cup he presses his fingers against the soil in the pot, assessing the wetness. It feels right, not too sodden and he crosses that job off his mental list as he leans against the kitchen counter and thinks what else needs to be done. There's a lot, laundry especially, but even though he feels better today, the thought of gathering dirty clothes and actually getting them washed is exhausting.

Breathing in deep, Gerard pushes himself upright. One load of laundry and he'll have achieved something today, that's something to strive for. Going down to the basement he keeps one hand against the wall, his fingers slithering against the bare plaster, and deliberately keeps turned away from the mess in the basement, knowing if he sees that he'll be bogged down in yet another wave of 'shoulds' -- he should change the bedding, should pick up the garbage on the floor -- but shoulds are no good for Gerard right now, all he has to concentrate on is picking up an armful of dirty clothes, dropping them into the washer. A capful of detergent and he sets it away, the dial clicking as Gerard turns it to the right setting and then makes for his bed, dropping onto the messy pile of sheets to the sound of water filling the drum.

Lying still, Gerard looks up at the ceiling, filling his lungs with air. He's relieved the black is fading, but he can still feel it, lingering with faint tendrils that itch against his face and try to wrap around his chest. Sometimes they succeed, but mostly Gerard can breathe, which right now is enough, at least Gerard can fumble his way through the day.

~~~~

"Gerard? Gerard!"

Gerard scrubs at his face and rolls onto his side as he peers toward the stairs. He thinks he can hear Frank, but he doesn't tend to come over alone, and Gerard can't help feeling worried as he sits, swaying a little as he keeps himself upright by bracing his hand against the mattress.

"Gerard?"

"Down here," Gerard says, and he sees Frank take the stairs two at a time. He's wearing long shorts today -- jeans that have been cut off at the knee -- and bright yellow socks that peer over the top of his flower-painted boots, a match to his t-shirt with smiley-faced sunflower printed in the middle. The only thing that doesn't match is his hair, which has a white blond streak instead of bright yellow.

"Hey." Frank looks uncertain as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. Usually he doesn't come down here at all, tending to stay in Mikey's bedroom or in the kitchen and living room. If he's honest Gerard wishes he was up there now, Frank looks too clean and bright to be in this dark cluttered space, but Gerard needs to know what's wrong and it's quicker for Frank to come down then Gerard to get out of bed and up.

"Is there something wrong with Mikey?" Gerard asks, fear tightening his chest.

"No," Frank says, looking apologetic. "He's fine, I just needed to talk to you alone."

Relieved, Gerard sinks back so he's leaning against the headboard. "Thank fuck, I thought, well, I don't know what I thought but it wasn't good."

"Sorry, I should have thought." Frank moves closer, picking his way through the mess on the floor. "I needed to talk to you about Mikey. Did Bob tell you what I wanted to do?"

"About the garden prom?" Gerard tucks up his legs, indicating that Frank should sit down. "I think it's a great idea."

Frank sits on the very edge of the bed, turning so he can see Gerard, but instead of talking he's worrying at his lip-ring, pushing at it with his tongue.

"Frank?"

"This is stupid," Frank says, more to himself than Gerard, then takes a deep breath, letting it out slowing before looking directly at Gerard. "I'm going to ask Mikey to go steady."

Gerard's confused, as far as he's concerned they've been going steady for almost a year, he doesn't understand why Frank's saying this now. "I, I guess. That's good."

"It is," Frank says decisively. "I know it sounds redundant, but I wanted to make it official, so I got him this." Taking a small box out of his pocket, Frank opens it, displaying a silver chain complete with a unicorn pendant. "I'm going to give it to him at the prom, but I wanted to tell you first."

"It's beautiful," Gerard says, but he still can't work out why Frank's here, taking time away from class to show Gerard something he's bound to see later. "I just. Why are you showing me now?"

"Because it matters." Frank takes the necklace out of the box, draping it over his fingers. "Because you're the most important person in his life and I want you to know how much I love him, and that I'll look after him always."

Gerard watches the unicorn, seeing how its horn catches the light, and can't help think Frank's making promises too big for two teenaged boys, but at the same time, Gerard thinks if anyone will try their hardest it'll be Frank. Impulsively he reaches out, pulling Frank into a hug.

"He'll love it."

Frank says nothing, just holds on.

~*~*~*~

Pencil point pressed against the page, Gerard tries his hardest to capture the image he's trying to picture. Frank has asked him to help decorate, and Gerard wants to help, but everything he imagines seems blurry and nothing he's attempted has been right. It's all kinds of frustrating and he hates that drawing anything is so hard, especially when it used to be easy. It feels like yet another thing that's been pulled out of his grasp, and his fingers tighten around the pencil, his knuckles white.

"Have you seen this?"

Gerard closes his sketchbook when Mikey comes downstairs. He's dressed for bed and his bare feet pad against the floor as he sits down, putting a sheet of paper on the table. The last time Gerard saw it, it was folded and weighted under the unicorn, now he can see the actual words. _Frank Iero requests the pleasure of the company of Michael James Way on Saturday 4th. Destination secret. Meet up six thirty in the kitchen of the Way establishment._

Mikey's got his fingers resting on the invitation, looking down at it as if it's something perplexing. "He doesn't say where we're going, how am I supposed to know what to wear?"

"You wear the same clothes wherever you go," Gerard points out, because Mikey's got one basic wardrobe, just when he goes to work he tones it down -- a little.

Mikey looks up at Gerard. "I change how I look."

"Rotating band t-shirts doesn't count." Gerard laces his fingers together. "Or are we talking about that red-letter day when you wore a sweater?"

"Fuck you," Mikey says mildly, and goes back to looking at the invitation. "I think he's planning something special, I should dress special."

"Yeah," Gerard agrees, thinking of Frank, and the way he flushed as he admitted hiring two tuxes. "I think Frank has plans for that."

"You know what he's planning?" Mikey sounds surprised, and he fixes Gerard with a look. "Tell me."

"No," Gerard says, already steeling himself for what he knows is coming.

"Please," Mikey says, breaking out his usual tactics of opening his eyes wide and looking pleading. Usually it's a sure-fire thing, but today Gerard vows to stay strong, knowing how much planning Frank's put into the surprise.

"I'm going to watch TV." Showing how immune he is to Mikey's pleading, Gerard turns away and makes his way to the living room. Flopping down onto the couch, he grabs the remotes, and puffs out air when Mikey drops down beside him, his elbow impacting against Gerard's side.

"You should tell me, then I could dress to fit the situation."

"You could wear a sack and Frank would think you looked perfect," Gerard says, flicking through the channels. "You want to watch The Apprentice?"

"Sure." Mikey curls close, his head against Gerard's shoulder, watching as the apprentices on screen attempt to sell some gadget to an uninterested audience.

"You'll like it," Gerard says, needing Mikey to know that at least.

"I know," Mikey says, and when he moves his hair scratches against Gerard's neck. "It's Frank. I like everything he does."

Gerard pokes Mikey hard in the thigh. "You're fucking sickening."

"No, man, I'm brutal," Mikey says, throwing some kind of gang sign, and Gerard can't help laughing, especially when Mikey looks up at him, grinning wide.

"Make that mental," Gerard says, and it feels good to laugh so freely, actually enjoying the world instead of fighting through every minute of the day. Mouth aching from smiling, Gerard settles back down, Mikey following, fitting together as always.

~*~*~*~

"You caught him robbing his own store," Ray says suddenly, and he lifts one of the trestle panels out of the back of the van. Holding it upright, he peers at Bob through the criss-crossed strips of wood, his fingers curling over the joins like he's clinging on.

"No," Bob says simply, picking up another panel. It feels rough against his hands and he can smell wood and creosote as he rests it against his body and shuts the van doors.

"Fine, don't tell me, I'll find out one day." Ray picks up his panel, making his way into the Way's garden, which right now looks like utter chaos. Coils of small lights lie on the grass and Brian's sitting cross-legged on the ground, meticulously wiring together two leads. Bob sets down the panel against the wall.

"Watch you don't blow yourself up."

"Fuck you, Bryar," Brian says, never looking up. A last twist of wire, and he puts down the lead, leaving it trailing over his lap. "Frank's mom came while you were gone, she _hugged_ me."

"She does that," Ray says, frowning a little as he stands in the middle of the chaos. "The first time we met she hugged and copped a feel."

Bob grins and steps over a collapsed trestle table. "It's the Toro thighs, they drive the ladies wild."

"It was Frank's _mom_," Ray says, looking horrified.

"Well you know where he gets it from, the handsy little fucker," Bob says. "Thinking of, where's he gone?"

"His mom took him to pick up the tuxes, thank fuck. I was getting dizzy watching him run around." Standing in one smooth movement, Brian cracks his knuckles. "So, we've got four hours?"

Ray pulls a sheet of paper out of his back pocket, reading down the list. "Mikey finishes work at five. I'll pick him up in the van and bring him back here. By that time his tux will have been dropped off and he'll just need to get dressed."

"I still don't get why you're all so sure he'll wear a blindfold to come home," Brian says. "I wouldn't."

"You're not Mikey," Bob says, and the truth is, he wouldn't wear a blindfold either, but he knows Mikey will, because despite everything he hasn't lost his sense of trust, or that part of him that means going somewhere blindfolded will become part of an adventure.

"Fair enough." Brian picks up a coil of lights, says, "I thought I'd start on the unicorn, I've been working out how to light up its horn."

"Good," Bob says, and picks up his own coil of lights. "You won't be able to reach to string lights across the garden."

Brian shucks the coil onto his shoulder. "If we weren't pushed for time I'd end you right now."

"Consider me cowering in fear," Bob says. "Oh, but wait, I'm not."

"Guys," Ray breaks in, and Bob gives a last mock snarl at Brian before turning to see what Ray wants, which is when he sees that Gerard's standing at the side of the lawn, holding a large roll of paper in his hands.

"Frank asked if I'd help decorate." Gerard's squinting in the bright light and he looks tired, the shadows under his eyes dark and his hair tangled in clumps. "He wanted something personal, what Mikey would like and, erm, it took all night, but it's done."

"I thought you weren't drawing right now," Bob says, and holds out his hands. "Can I?"

"I wasn't," Gerard says, and he's chewing on the side of his mouth as he holds out the roll of paper. "But I had to try."

Holding the top of the paper, Bob unrolls the drawing, Ray and Brian moving close as the scene is exposed. Broken buildings set against a blood-red sky heavy with dark clouds, and in the foreground, figures that Bob has seen before, but unlike last year this time they're standing tall and proud in their black uniforms, Gerard at the front, head tilted back and back straight, as if he's taking on the world. Mikey and Frank at one side, standing close, Mikey holding a shield and Frank a sword dripping with blood. Bob and Ray at the other side of Gerard, Ray standing solid, his hair loose as he wields a flaming pitchfork, Bob snarling, a spiked chain wrapped around one hand, the other against Gerard's back, and then further back, Brian, wearing his own black uniform, the arms rolled up to expose his tattoos as he scowls, his fists clenched as if ready to do battle.

"Whoa, that's sick," Ray says, and he reaches out, fingers over the portrait of himself with its proud expression and the briefest hint of smile. "You've made me look kick-ass."

"Because you are, Gerard says, sounding confused. He's got his arms crossed over his chest, but he unfolds them, pointing to each person. "You're strong and good, Bob's my protector, Mikey my heart and Frank's like a wildflower, fierce and true." Gerard moves his hand, pointing at the drawing of Brian. "Being at the back doesn't mean you're less, it means you're trusted."

"I get it," Brian says gruffly, and he grips his coil of lights tightly. "I'm going to sort out that unicorn."

He leaves, almost running across the grass and Gerard looks concerned as he watches him go. "I didn't mean to hurt his feelings."

"You didn't," Bob says, and starts to roll up the picture. "Do you want to stay and give us a hand?"

Gerard looks back at the house, but then nods, says, "Sure."

~*~*~*~

"Take a step up," Bob says. He's holding Mikey's arm, steering him into the kitchen. When they're both inside, he shuts the door and removes the red bandanna that's been wound around Mikey's head. "We're inside, you can open your eyes now."

"I heard noises," Mikey says, and tries to fluff his hair back into shape as he looks in the direction of the window.

"That was you tripping over your own feet." Gently, Bob pushes Mikey towards Gerard, who's waiting at the bottom of the stairs. "Go get dressed, Frank will be here soon."

"I don't even know what to get dressed in," Mikey grumbles, but Gerard can see how his eyes are shining as he heads up to his bedroom.

Gerard listens to the sound of him walking, and takes a moment to talk to Bob. "Did everything go okay?"

"Like clockwork, he didn't see a thing," Bob says, and pulls out his phone, frowning at the screen. "I need to call Frank, he's sent at least ten texts."

Gerard gestures to the stairs, says," I'm going up." He does, leaving Bob to his reassurances, promising Frank everything is going fine. Which it is, better than fine. Except for one thing, when Gerard gets to Mikey's bedroom he's making no attempt to get changed, is just sitting on his unmade bed, sheets spilling past his legs as he looks at the tux that's been hung on the back of his closet door.

It's covered in plastic and Gerard knows there's a blue bow tie tucked in the pocket, a match to the cummerbund that's carefully folded and hanging inside the shirt and jacket -- it's not Mikey at all. Too polished. Too fancy. Too everything, and Gerard feels anxious, knowing how much Frank wants this to work.

"Where did it come from?" Mikey says, and clasps his hands together as he stares at the tux, as if it's going to jump up and attack.

"It's a rental, Frank's mom brought it," Gerard says, and sits on the bed, resting his head on Mikey's shoulder. "Frank wanted tonight to be special."

"But that's not me, Gee." Mikey sounds confused and he's breathing fast, pulling in air. "Do you think he's saying something? That I need to smarten up?"

"I think you're a moron," Gerard says, sitting up straight and digging his fingers into Mikey's ribs. "He's gone on you and is going for a specific theme and the tux is part of that, it doesn't mean you can't modify it to make it you."

"I could do that," Mikey says slowly, then stands, looking determined as he pulls off his t-shirt, dropping it to the floor. Pulling open the door of his closet, he crouches down, back curved and the knobbles of his spine sticking out as he rummages through the tangle of belts and shoes that litter the bottom. "Go it." Mikey stands, holding a black studded belt. "I'm going to shower. Can you plug in my straighteners?"

"Sure," Gerard says. It takes him a few minutes to actually find them, Mikey's room is a disaster, piles of stuff everywhere, but eventually Gerard finds them under a heavy textbook about the native fauna of the Americas, and plugs them in, setting them safely on the floor.

"Is Bob staying tonight?"

Gerard sits back on the bed, barely able to hear Mikey over the sound of splashing water. He's not actually sure if Bob's staying or not, he usually does but Gerard never asks, just hopes that he does. He always feels better when Bob is around, even if they're just sitting watching TV.

"I'm not sure," Gerard says loudly, then lowers his voice when Mikey walks back into the room, a towel wrapped around his waist. "Probably."

Mikey sits on the edge of his bed, unfastening the towel and tugging it from underneath him so he can rub at his chest and arms. "He's a good guy."

"He is," Gerard agrees, wondering where Mikey's going with this.

"Did you ever..." Mikey stops talking, leaning forward to pick a pair of boxers off a pile on the floor. Pulling them on, he glances over at Gerard. "He likes you."

"I'd hope he does considering how often he's here. He'd be masochistic if he didn't," Gerard says, and sits back on the bed, tucking up his legs as Mikey pulls the cover off the tux and sets the jacket to one side so he can take the shirt off the hanger.

Mikey slips his arms in the shirt and it hangs to mid thigh, crisp white cotton against the pale skin of his legs. He starts fastening the buttons. "He doesn't look like he'd be into that scene."

"You can't judge what people are into by how they look," Gerard chides gently.

"I know," Mikey says, working pearly buttons through concealed button holes, leaving the top two undone. He slides the pants off the hanger, standing on one leg as he pulls them on. "Frank said Bob didn't even cry when he got stabbed with that garden fork."

"I don't really think that counts as him being masochistic," Gerard says. "And wasn't he too busy chasing Frank and vowing vengeance at the time?"

Mikey fastens his pants and picks up the studded belt, deliberately fastening it a little loose so it slips down on one hip. "Frank didn't mean to stab him. What should I do with this?"

Mikey's holding up the bow tie, and Gerard shakes his head, unable to see the appeal. "Leave it off. You're looking great without it."

Smiling slightly, Mikey pulls his boots from where they've been kicked under the bed and sits next to Gerard. Reaching back, he pulls a pair of striped socks from between the bed and the wall and pulls one on before pushing his foot into a boot, tugging the laces tight before fastening the buckles. "He does like you."

"And I like him," Gerard says. "As a friend."

Mikey looks up from where he's fastening the final buckle, his hair falling in his eyes in damp strands. "It could be more."

"No, it couldn't," Gerard disagrees. He doesn't know why Mikey's bringing this up now, probably a combination of his anniversary with Frank and Gerard finally feeling a little better, but the facts remain, despite the pills that allow him to function, Gerard's still damaged. He's not about to inflict that on anyone else. "Bob deserves someone better."

"There's no one better than you," Mikey says, fierce and immediate. "He'd be lucky to have you."

"Not going to happen," Gerard says, and squeezes Mikey's shoulder. "Want me to do your eye make-up?"

Mikey picks up his other boot, says, "Please."

Standing, Gerard picks up the eyeliner that's lying on top of a pile of CDs, next to a mirror resting against the wall. Taking off the lid, he sets it to one side and then kneels in front of Mikey who's taken off his glasses, setting them on his pillow.

"Look up," Gerard carefully runs a line of black under Mikey's right eye. He goes slowly, ensuring the color is even, each tiny lash backed with black. He's so close he can see each blemish on Mikey's face, the way his bottom lip is dry and the acne that lingers on his chin. Feeling a wash of love, Gerard finishes Mikey's left eye and then pulls him into a hug, says, "Love you, kid."

"Love you too," Mikey's holding on tight, his head tucked against Gerard's shoulder as he says softly. "You're okay right?

"Getting there," Gerard says truthfully, therapy sessions and medication ensuring most days he wakes up and can actually get out of bed. Indulging himself, Gerard holds on, then breaks away, looking at the clock that's sitting on the floor when he hears the door and then the sound of voices. "Frank's early."

Mikey's eyes are wide and he puts on his glasses, patting at his hair which is lying flat to his head. "I'm not ready yet."

"He won't mind waiting," Gerard says, and stands as Mikey jumps up, gathering his comb and lacquer. "I'll tell him you'll be down soon."

Mikey nods, already kneeling and teasing out his hair.

A last fond look and Gerard goes downstairs, where Bob's offering drinks to Frank's mom. Frank himself is standing next to the table and he looks up sharply when Gerard comes into view.

"Mikey'll be a few minutes," Gerard says, taking in Frank's outfit. He's wearing a tux too, but like Mikey, has modified it in his own way. a purple pansy drawn on his white shirt, the color a match to his bangs. He's also holding a bunch of flowers, a purple ribbon wrapped around the stalks.

"Do you think it's too girlie?" Frank asks, looking anxious. "I should have got him something else. I should go, get him some candy."

About to turn around, Frank's stopped by his mom who rests her hands on his shoulders. "There's nothing wrong with giving flowers to boys." She looks at Gerard. "Don't you agree?"

Caught, Gerard stops trying to sidle towards Bob. "I think gender norms are an outdated process, and Mikey likes flowers."

"Of course he does," she smiles approvingly, and then lets go of Frank when there's a sound of footsteps from upstairs. Taking his opportunity, Gerard moves over to Bob, Frank's mom joining them as Mikey appears.

His hair is still damp at the ends, and he's left the jacket upstairs, his modified tux nothing but the white shirt tucked tightly into the black pants, the studs on his belt catching the light as he moves. When he sees everyone looking Mikey hesitates a moment, then sees Frank, and at that moment it's plainly obvious that no one else exists in the room.

"You look amazing," Frank says, and he stepping forward, holding out his flowers. "I brought you these."

Mikey ducks his head, says, "Thank you. I like your shirt."

Frank grins. "I decorated it myself."

"It's awesome," Mikey says, and slides a pansy out of the bunch, stepping forward so he can slide it behind Frank's ear. "There. Perfect."

"No yet," Frank says, and takes his own flower, and Mikey crouches down slightly, allowing Frank to thread it into his hair. "Now it's perfect."

"They're so sweet my teeth are aching," Bob says, leaning in so he can whisper in Gerard's ear, but despite his gruff tone he's failing to hide a smile.

"We need pictures." Gerard jumps slightly when Frank's mom darts past, going for her bag which she's left on the kitchen counter. Rummaging inside she pulls out her camera and looks around before pointing at a spot in front of the wall. "Frank, Mikey. Stand there, I'm going to take pictures."

"Mom," Frank protests, but he moves anyway, tugging a clearly reluctant Mikey after him.

Frank's mom peers at her camera. "I need to send copies to the family, you both look so handsome I want to show you off. Now smile." She holds up the camera, and Frank grins while Mikey drops into his mournful 'camera expression' something Gerard's seen thousands of times. He's expecting Linda to tell Mikey to smile, but all she does is take a series of pictures, before letting her hand drop and turning to Gerard. "Now one with you and Mikey. They need to see that good looks run in the family."

"Erm, no, I don't." Gerard tries to indicate that he's in no state for pictures, dressed in days old clothes and his hair lank around his face, but she's having none of it, just points at Mikey, who's leaning against the wall and looking amused.

"You look perfectly fine, now come stand next to your brother."

"Go on, Gee, you can't disappoint the lady," Bob says, not bothering to hide his grin. Reluctantly, Gerard goes to stand next to Mikey, who slumps down and presses close, his arm around Gerard.

"Look at you two, you're adorable!" Linda takes what seems like an endless series of pictures as Frank stands behind her, making faces. Thankful when she takes the last one, Gerard starts to move, but stops when she says, "And now Bob, too. We need the whole family."

Surprised, Gerard turns to look at Bob, who's shaking his head as he makes for the door. "Oh fuck no."

"Just a couple, for my album," Linda says, and Gerard can see where Frank learnt to be so charming when he needs to, because Linda is looking hopeful, her eyes wide, until eventually, with a barely disguised ill-grace, Bob joins them. "Fantastic. Bob, stand on Mikey's other side." She takes the pictures, and then more with Frank included, and Gerard's starting to feel exposed, his cheeks hurting from where he's forcing a smile.

"That's enough, mom," Frank says, and he grabs hold of Mikey's hand, all his nerves from before seeming to rush back in a flood as he looks toward outside. "Mikey, fuck. I wanted to celebrate our anniversary with something special. If you hate it we'll do something else."

"I'll love it," Mikey says, sounding certain as Frank looks at him, with no hint of a smile.

"You don't even know what we're doing."

"I'll still love it," Mikey says, and Gerard wants to remember this moment forever, when it feels like everything is possible and Mikey's so certain that he's loved.

Frank takes a deep breath, says, "Okay, right. I asked Gerard and he said you'd never gone to your prom, and neither have I, because proms are overrated and stupid, but I wanted you to have one, something normal that we can remember when we're old. So, we made you one."

Mikey bites at his bottom lip and he's clenching Frank's fingers. "You made me a prom?"

"We did," Frank says, and leads Mikey toward the door. "Bob, Ray and Brian, Gerard and my mom. They made it special." He opens the door, and they step outside.

Since Gerard's been out there things have changed. Tiny lights are lit up and brilliant white, strung in lines from one side of the garden to the other. The screens that block people from seeing in from the street are covered in flowers, some artificial, some real, surrounding the hanging plastic figures -- a green dinosaur, batman perched on the back of a giant black bat, while red tea light candles are tucked safely at the bottom. In a back corner the gazebo has been wrapped in lights, a table and two chairs inside, a bowl containing punch set on the black cloth that's decorated with battling robots. Gerard's picture is hanging at the back, while the dragon bird bath has been filled with floating candles and Ray's iPod is sitting next to the portable speakers, playing the Smashing Pumpkins.

"You did it for me?" Mikey's still looking around, as if he can't believe what he's seeing, and Gerard can't blame him, because this isn't just special, it's magic, and Gerard feels a knot in his throat, knowing that sometimes life can be amazing. "Oh my god."

Wiping at his eyes, Gerard looks to see what's made Mikey sound so shocked, and sees him walk to the unicorn, which has been lit up somehow, its horn glowing with silver light.

"I got you something." Still holding Mikey's hand, Frank goes to the unicorn, taking hold of the necklace that's lying on its back. Picking it up, he holds it up so Mikey can see. "I'd have got you a ring, but I thought this would be better. Mikey Way, will you go steady?"

"Fuck yes," Mikey says, and Gerard expects Frank to giggle or grin or jump in celebration. He does none of those, just looks at Mikey as if he's the most precious thing in the world.

Clustered in the doorway, they watch as Frank fastens the necklace around Mikey's neck, and in return Mikey gives him a closed-mouth kiss before they both disappear into the main garden.

Linda beams. "I should go, Frank doesn't need his mom here."

"We'll walk you out," Bob says, and together they go to Linda's car. Opening the door, she hesitates before getting inside, looking at Gerard.

"You're doing a great job bringing up that boy."

"I've had nothing to do with it," Gerard says. He scratches at his face and looks at the ground, at the small stones and stray flower petals that are under his feet.

"Bullshit," Linda says, grinning at Gerard's shocked look. "Bringing someone up is more than practicalities, it's about love, and I know Mikey's never lacked that from you."

"Uh," Gerard says, unsure what to say. Linda steps close, brushing a kiss against his cheek.

"Come over to my house for dinner some time, both of you."

"We will," Bob says, and closes the door when Linda gets inside and pulls away with a last wave. "I see Ray's not the only lady killer around here."

"What no." Gerard looks at Bob, and inside he's all mixed up. Missing his own mom and clinging onto the knowledge that someone thinks he hasn't fucked things up. "She's nice."

"She is," Bob agrees, and he stands close as Gerard breathes in deep, listening to the soft sound of music and feeling the late summer breeze against his skin. It's full of the scent of flowers, full of life -- Gerard's missed it.

~*~*~*~

Bob wakes and stretches, easing the kinks out of his back. The blankets have fallen on the floor during the night and he reaches down, hauling them onto the bed in a messy heap. Knees bent, he scratches at his head and pushes his hair out of his eyes -- it's well overdue for a cut and he's tempted to just shave it off, but so far has resisted the urge.

The clock on his bedside table says five after eight and as it's his day off he considers burrowing under the covers for more sleep as a matter of principle. Instead he stands, drawn out of bed by the brilliant sunshine that floods the room, he wanders into the living room, where Brian's sitting on the sofa, nested in a pile of blankets, watching the TV that's turned low, while eating cereal out of a blue plastic bowl.

"You're up early," Bob says, thankful there's over half a pot of fresh coffee. Filling a mug he pushes aside the remote and settles on the couch next to Brian.

"I've got an interview." Brian spoons cereal into his mouth, scooping up the remaining floating marshmallows. "One of the leads Mikey gave me."

"Anything good?"

"Entry level management, piss-poor pay and benefits, but it's a start." Brian lifts the bowl, drinking the remaining milk. He sounds indifferent but Bob knows him enough to see the gleam of anticipation, it's something that's been missing since Brian arrived, and Bob can't help hope the job works out.

"Do you need to borrow some clothes?" It's a valid question because Brian's been alternating the same two outfits for weeks, and Bob can't see an interview going well if Brian turns up in holed-jeans and a t-shirt that's covered in grass stains.

Brian grins. "Sure, I'll turn up like a kid wearing his dad's plaid shirt."

"I haven't just got plaid shirts," Bob says with dignity, and he hasn't, he's got a white one in his closet he's sure.

"It's okay." Brian stretches out his legs and digs his toes into Bob's thigh. "We went shopping after we left you last night. I've a sweet interview outfit."

"I wondered where you'd took off to," Bob says, batting at Brian's feet.

Brian digs his toes in even harder. "Unlike some people I don't spend hours just staring at Gerard."

Bob scowls and nips Brian's big toe. "I don't spent hours staring at Gerard."

"You kind of do," Brian says. "It's fucking sickening, like watching the big gay Romeo and Juliet set to a backdrop of despair, coffee and manure."

Bob stares. "Does that even make sense in your mind?"

"Don't even front." Brian pulls back his foot, bending his knee so he can rub at his big toe. "You watch him, he stares at you and all the while a huge black cloud of fucking tragedy and denial hovers over you both."

"Seriously, are you even listening to what's coming out of your mouth?" Bob says and sits back so he can scowl in comfort. "He's an attractive man, I can stare at him without it meaning anything. And even if it did, which is doesn't, this is the wrong time for a relationship."

"Jesus Christ," Brian says, looking pained. "I know you've got the whole protective shtick going on, but think of yourself for once. There's never going to be a right time, you know that. Gerard's fucked in the head, but so's everyone else."

"So that's your big advice," Bob says. "We're all fucked so we might as well be fucked together."

Brian points his spoon at Bob. "Exactly."

~~~~

As advice goes, it's actually not that bad and Bob can't help thinking of what Brian said as he makes his way to Gerard's. In a fit of madness he'd decided to walk and he's feeling hot and sticky when he finally arrives. Bob wipes at his forehead as he stands and looks into the garden.

In the full light of day the magic has faded, but remnants remain in the burnt-out candles and two empty glasses sitting flush together on the table. There's a white shirt lying crumpled on the grass and Bob tries not to think why it's there, just averts his eyes and perfunctory knocks at the door before going inside.

"Hey." Frank waves from where he's sitting at the table, shirtless and holding a pop-tart, a bite taken out of one corner. "Everyone's asleep but me." He waves the pop-tart and a stream of red filling trickles towards his fingers. "I needed the energy."

"I don't care," Bob says, and steps forward, snatching the pop-tart out of Frank's hand. Bob takes a bite. "You don't have sex."

Frank grins wide, looking so satisfied that Bob wants to hit him just because. "Oh but I do, lot's of sex. Lots of glorious, amazing, long-lasting sex."

Bob throws the pop-tart, and Frank catches it in mid-air, crumbs falling to the ground. "I'm going to see Gerard."

"And I'm going to see Mikey," Frank says, cramming the remainder of the pop-tart in his mouth. He chews and swallows. "If you hear any thuds don't come looking."

"Believe me, I won't," Bob says, and he goes to the basement before he has to see if Frank's completely naked.

It's stuffy down there, and smells of what Bob's come to think of as Gerard, a mixture of dirty clothes and body odor and Bob knows it should be gross, but instead it's comforting somehow. A thought that makes him stop on the bottom stair, because Jesus fuck, when did Bob get so lame? He wants to bash his head against the nearest wall.

Giving himself a minute to actually admit to himself he feels this way -- because sure, he's always thought Gerard was attractive, and they're good friends and Bob spends most of his spare time at the Way's, but that was as far as it went -- Bob thumps down, sitting on the step and tries to push the feeling back where it belongs, but it's impossible, and Bob knows Brian's right; Bob's been fooling himself, and there never will be a right time.

It's a hard truth to take in. Bob's spent over a year watching Gerard fight to keep living, and despite his history, he admits to himself there's a part of him that's been waiting for Gerard to get well before even thinking of making a move. Bob groans and rests his head in his hands, frustrated at being such an idiot, and he knows it's as much his issues shining through as Gerard's. Bob stands, needing to see Gerard.

Stepping over an upturned box and a collapsed pile of folded laundry, Bob feels like some kind of pervert as he approaches Gerard's bed, but he can't seem to look away. Gerard's lying on his side, his hand tucked under his cheek and his hair is tangled over his face so all that's visible is his parted mouth. The covers have slid down at the side showing Gerard's wearing yesterday's clothes but his feet are bare and Bob notices that each toe nail has been painted a different color. Bob allows himself a moment to think that's adorable before sitting at the bottom of the bed.

"Gerard. Gerard." Bob tickles Gerard's foot, running his fingers along the instep. Gerard doesn't move, just mumbles sleepily before pulling his foot away. Bob grabs hold of the blankets and tugs. "Gerard. Wake up."

"Whu, what?" Blinking hard, Gerard sits up in bed, peering at Bob as if he's got no clue who he is and what he's doing. He probably doesn't, and Bob would feel guilty except Gerard scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hands and then smiles. "Bob, hi."

"I'm going to make breakfast," Bob says. It's not what he'd planned when he set off but it seems the right thing to do, especially when Gerard's just _there_ and all Bob wants to do is touch. It's like now he's admitted how he feels every urge and compulsion he's kept hidden is straining to get free, and Bob clenches his hands together, knowing this isn't the time.

"You don't have to do that," Gerard says, scratching at his neck and exposing the damp patches under his arms.

"I know," Bob says. "I'm going to make pancakes, if you go get showered now they'll be ready when you come out."

Gerard pushes his hair out of his face. "Are you saying I stink?"

"I'm saying you've time to get showered," Bob says, and pushes himself up, looking down at Gerard. "I'll throw in chocolate chips."

Gerard doesn't move, just stares at Bob. "And now bribes with chocolate."

"Is it working?" Bob asks.

"Maybe," Gerard says, and rolls onto his side and off of the bed.

Bob doesn't stay to watch. Gerard will either shower or he won't, Bob's not his care-taker and he's not about to start issuing orders, but he can't help feeling pleased when he's near the top of the stairs and hears the sound of footsteps and then water.

"Did you stay over?"

Hand against his chest, Bob's glad he wasn't on the top of the stairs when Mikey spoke, otherwise he'd have plummeted right back to the bottom. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Mikey raises an eyebrow and goes back to watching coffee drip into the jug. "I live here."

"You're never up this early when you're not at work," Bob says, his heart slowing to a more regular rhythm. "I thought you'd be holed up with Frank."

"Frank's in the shower." Mikey reaches up to get a mug out of the cupboard and his t-shirt rides up, exposing the line of small bruises along one hip. "He got jizz in his hair."

"Don't tell me shit like that," Bob says, physically pained. "Just don't."

"Okay," Mikey says, and fills his mug with coffee, drinking half before filling it again and lounging against the counter and staring at Bob like some skinny, tousled-haired, razor-eyed freak. "So, did you?"

Head in the fridge, cold rolls past Bob's shoulders as he checks the milk, ensuring it's still in date. "Did I what?"

"Stay over," Mikey says, making it sound like Bob's some kind of forgetful idiot.

"No, I went home," Bob says, and shuts the fridge door before crouching to get the bowl so he can make batter. It's not in the usual place, and he pushes aside pans until he finds it shoved right at the back of the cupboard. "I came back to help clean up the garden, Ray and Brian are coming over later."

Mikey nods, attention on his coffee, then says, "You should have just stayed, we've room upstairs."

"Shared the same floor as you two last night, I don't think so," Bob says, cracking an egg into the bowl.

"You could have slept with Gee, he wouldn't have minded," Mikey says, and Bob fumbles the egg he's just picked up, so it falls, cracking against the floor.

"Great." Bob grabs a towel and kneels, trying to mop up the mess.

"I'm going back up," Mikey says, and Bob sees his bare feet as he walks past, heading for the stairs. "Keep us some pancakes."

"If I remember." Dropping the towel in the sink, Bob quickly makes a batch of batter, adding nearly a full packet of chocolate-chips, leftovers from Ray's manic shopping spree the week before. Ensuring the pan is hot, he ladles out the first pancake, watching as the batter fills the pan and starts to bubble. When it looks solid, Bob slides a spatula underneath and flips, humming under his breath. Cooking is something he enjoys but doesn't tend to do very often, and it feels good standing at the stove, repetitively making pancakes until he's used up half the batch of batter. Picking up the pancake laden plate, he sets it on the table.

About to yell that breakfast is ready, he stops when he hears Gerard come upstairs. He's got a towel around his neck and is wearing a ratty robe that comes to mid-thigh and Bob tries not to look down, but it's hard because Gerard never shows off his legs, and Bob can't help noticing the curve of his calves and how there's a bruise on one shin.

"Mikey kicked me," Gerard says, looking down too. "He's vicious. Like a sloth, all quiet and sleepy until they attack."

Bob picks up four plates and a handful of cutlery, setting them all on the table. "Are sloths even vicious? Don't they just hang there?"

Gerard sits, chewing on the side of his lip. "They could be vampire sloths, they'd be vicious."

"Of course," Bob says, grabbing the syrup before sitting. "Vampire sloths."

"Vampire sloths," Gerard agrees. He looks at the clock on the wall then reaches for a plate and fork, stabbing a pancake. "I'm not usually up this early."

"Sucks to be you," Bob says, and slides a pancake onto his plate. Cutting it in two, he eats one half as he watches Gerard make a face on his pancake with syrup -- a face complete with fangs and Bob has to concentrate on chewing before he does something stupid like just beam.

"Are Ray and Brian coming over later?" Gerard says, busy adding drops of syrup blood.

"Sometime this morning, Brian's got an interview first," Bob says, remembering how Brian looked in his new clothes, pacing and chain smoking until Ray arrived to give him a lift. It'll be the second time Brian's re-started his life, and Bob admires him for the ability of never giving up and fighting for his place in the world, no matter what the odds on success. It's why Bob swallows, says, "After breakfast, do you want to go out? Maybe get some coffee."

Gerard slices his pancake with his knife, slashing at the syrup face and Bob's sure he's going to say no. He doesn't, instead he hesitates, his knife and fork against the plate and eventually says, "I guess. We can go after Mikey and Frank have eaten."

Bob scoops more pancake into his mouth and chews furiously, says, "Fine."

~*~*~*~

"What did Bob say? Exactly."

Gerard looks across at the other tables, each one full of people who're paying him no attention at all. He still feels exposed, like there's something about him that says pathetic, and Gerard's thankful Mikey's sat opposite, shielding him from view. "He asked if we wanted to get coffee."

"Really?" Mikey says, looking unconvinced, because he looked weird when you said he'd asked us along."

"He looked weird because Frank was half-naked," Gerard says.

Mikey rolls his eye. "Frank's always half-naked."

"Not in our kitchen," Gerard protests, pushing aside memories where Frank _has_ been half-naked in their house; which is a lot. He closes his eyes, trying to remember Bob's exact words. "He said, after breakfast, do you want to go out. See, that's.... oh."

"You're a moron," Mikey says fondly. "I can't believe you've got Frank and me crashing your date."

"It's not a date." That's something Gerard does know, and he looks into the coffee shop, where Bob's standing at the counter, patiently listening as Frank talks about something that involves a lot of hand waving. As if he can feel Gerard staring, Bob looks over and smiles. Gerard can't help smiling back.

"Would you want it to be?" Mikey's looking from Bob to Gerard, his brows pulled together.

Gerard runs his finger over the woven metal top of the table and considers playing dumb, but Mikey's looking at him, waiting for an answer. "I like Bob, a lot. He's a good friend, and hot, and I like him being around. But...."

"But," Mikey prompts.

"But I haven't dated in years, you know that. " Gerard watches as Bob gets Frank in a head-lock, keeping him jammed between his side and arm as they slowly make their way along the line. "I don't know if I _can_ date. On my best days I can leave the house, on my worst I can't get out of bed."

Mikey flattens his hand against the table top, his middle finger against Gerard's. "Your best days are getting more frequent."

"Because I take a shit-load of drugs," Gerard says, and even if he does feel better now he knows he's still damaged. "I'm fucked in the head, have no prospect of a job and no money. "Who'd want that?"

"I would." Mikey spider-walks his fingers over Gerard's hand, holding it down. "You're hot, awesome, and if you weren't my brother I'd have you in an instant."

"I think Frank would have something to say about," Gerard says, and adds his free hand on top of Mikey's.

"He is kind of scrappy," Mikey says, turning his head when Bob and Frank push their way out of the coffee shop and make their way through the tables. When they get close Mikey levels a look at Frank. "Would you protest if I dated Gerard?"

Frank sets down two large paper cups of coffee and perches on a nearby table, looking thoughtful. "It depends, are we talking threesome here or does he get you all to himself?"

"Threesomes are too complicated," Mikey says, and grabs a coffee, taking a long drink.

"In that case, fuck yes I'd protest," Frank says.

Mikey smiles slightly, says, "Good." He stands then, pulling his hand from between Gerard's. "We need to go for a walk."

"We do?" Frank asks, and at Mikey's complicated series of facial ticks, picks up his drink. "We do."

"I'll see you back at the house," Mikey says, and wanders away with Frank, their heads together as they talk.

Bob sits in Mikey's empty seat, pushing over a drink to Gerard. "What the hell was all that about?"

"It's Mikey," Gerard says, and while normally that would be enough of an answer, he knows he's left things unsaid and they niggle as he takes a sip of his drink. While he does so he's looking at Bob, seeing how the sun makes his hair gleam and how his nose is slightly red. He's just, _Bob_ and having him here makes Gerard feel safe, but it's more than that, it's multiple emotions that come down to -- Gerard never wants to let Bob go. Gathering courage, Gerard puts down his drink. "Was this supposed to be a date?"

"If a date means I want to be alone with you...." Bob hesitates a moment, says, "Yeah."

"Right," Gerard says, wishing he could smoke, or do something with his hands, anything but sit here and cradle his drink while Bob looks at him like he's something special, because Gerard's not special. He's fucking terrified, at continuing to live his life, at the thought of letting Bob even closer, into a space where only Mikey's been for so long. "I don't get it. I'm not, I mean, I'm just me."

"Exactly," Bob says gruffly, as if it explains everything.

Gerard sips at his drink. It doesn't at all.

~*~*~*~

"You're telling me that you finally asked Gerard on a date, and he asked along Mikey and Frank, and then when you admitted it was a date you both finished your coffee and came back here?" Ray says, holding an armful of artificial black roses, like he's sheltering behind some kind of macabre bouquet.

"What was I supposed to do?" Bob snatches up the white shirt from the grass, throwing it towards Frank. "He didn't suggest we go out, I wasn't about to force him."

"Of course he's not going to suggest it, it's Gerard," Frank says, examining the shirt with a frown. "You need to ask him again."

Bob scowls and starts gathering up spent candles. "Like you're such an expert about dating. It took Gerard and a fucking stone unicorn for you to date Mikey."

"It worked," Frank says, and smiles as he looks over at the unicorn which is back in its usual place, looking bare without its light-up horn. He turns back to Bob. "Why...."

"No." Bob holds up his hand, knowing what Frank's about to say. "The unicorn won't work for this."

"The unicorn works for everything, it's magic," Frank says, and wraps an arm around Bob's waist and rests his head against Bob's chest. "Give it a try."

Bob spits blue hair out of his mouth, tasting dye. "You're been hanging with Mikey too long, you're sounding like him."

"You are," Ray agrees. "It's scary."

"Whatever," Frank says, still clinging on to Bob. "You're just jealous."

"You've caught me, I've always wanted to be a co-dependent flower freak," Bob says, and grabs hold of Frank, hauling him up onto his shoulder. "Why aren't you cleaning up?"

Frank giggles, hitting his fists against Bob's back. "Because discussing your pathetic love life, or lack of it, is more interesting."

Bob holds onto Frank's legs and spins around before dropping him on the grass with a thud. "Since when are my dates public record?"

Frank lies flat, his arms outstretched and his eyes wide. "Since you wanted to become my brother-in-law."

"Oh fuck no, you'll never be family," Bob says, and plucks a fake rose off one of the screens, throwing it at Frank's head.

Frank grins. "I didn't know you cared."

"I don't," Bob says, and then stops talking when Ray walks close, smiling wide, his phone in his hand.

"Brian just sent a text, his interview went really well."

"Fantastic!" Frank scrambles to his feet and grabs hold of Ray, dancing him around the garden. "It's the power of the unicorn, I told you."

"Or Brian's fucking good at what he does," Bob says, stepping to one side when Frank and Ray careen by.

Well, that too." Frank comes to a stop next to Bob, his eyes glittering and looking happy, but he sounds perfectly serious when he says, "Go ask Gerard again. I promise we'll keep away this time."

"And what if he says no?" Bob says, the possibility clinging on.

Frank shakes his head, says, "He won't."

~~~~

Mikey walks over and sits at the table, taking the chair next to Gerard's. He takes Gerard's coffee, drinking it all before setting the empty mug back in the same place. He leans back in his chair and says nothing. Mikey's good at that, able to wait Gerard out for as long as it takes. Gerard isn't; he always has to talk and fill a silence.

"I don't know what you want me to do," Gerard says. He picks at a blob of congealed ketchup, peeling it from the surface of the table. "It's not like I could ask him to a movie."

Feet braced against the side of Gerard's chair, Mikey leans forward and scratches his ankle. "It's the first time you've been interested in someone for years."

"It's the first time I've been interested in _anything_ for years," Gerard corrects. He reaches down, curling his fingers around the toes of Mikey's sneakers as he admits, "I don't know if it's enough."

"Enough what?" Mikey asks.

Gerard thinks what to say. He likes having Bob around, and being together feels good, but Bob deserves someone who'll love him and be there when needed, and the truth is, Gerard doesn't know if he can do that. He's only got so much to give and any emotional energy will always go to Mikey first. The last thing he wants is for Bob to be hurt, and Gerard can't help feeling that'll be inevitable if they get together.

Gerard bites at his thumb nail, says, "Enough to love him."

"You're making excuses," Mikey says, and pushes his glasses back up his nose.

Gerard shakes his head, because that's not fair. "It's the truth."

"It's the truth how you see it," Mikey says, talking over Gerard when he starts to protest. "Relationships don't start with love, they start with like. You build up from that."

"And what if I don't have the energy to build?" Gerard says. "What if Bob gets tired of waiting and leaves?"

"Then he wouldn't be the one for you." Mikey wiggles his toes against Gerard's fingers. "But Bob's not like that."

"I know," Gerard says. He knows Bob is good and patient, he's been there through everything, for anything Gerard ever needs. It's just, there's no way Gerard can give back as much in return. "He deserves someone better."

Mikey drops his feet to the floor, his jaw set. "I say this because I love you, but you're a fucking idiot. You've spent so long being sad that you've forgotten how to be happy."

Gerard runs his hands through his hair and itches at his cheek. "You think dating Bob would make me happy?"

"No," Mikey says, shaking his head. "It doesn't work like that and you know it. Bob can't make you happy, but he'll try, and why deny yourself that?"

"I could drag him down," Gerard says, admitting his fear.

"Or he could drag you up."

"I guess," Gerard says, listening to the sound of laughter from outside, and the truth is, Gerard's scared, fucking terrified that he'll try this and fail. He looks around the kitchen, at the plant on the windowsill, the juice bottles lined up on the counter, at Mikey who's patiently waiting, and Gerard knows this is one time he has to try. "Think I'd get my own burned handprint?"

Mikey smiles slightly. "If you're lucky."

~*~*~*~

Bob looks in the mirror and tugs at his shirt. It still doesn't seem real that he's going on an actual date with Gerard. It feels like everything is happening too fast, though in reality the lead up to this has lasted for over a year.

"Have you finished primping you vain bastard?" Brian yells, and wanders into Bob's bedroom, throwing himself down on the bed. "So, this is the big night."

"It's _a_ night," Bob says, and runs his fingers through his hair.

"Whatever." Brian shrugs, leaning back on the pile of discarded shirts. "Jesus Chris, your wardrobe needs an overhaul."

"My wardrobe is just fine," Bob says and turns away from the mirror, it's not as if Gerard cares about appearances and they're not going anywhere fancy. "Why are you even here? We've outgrown doing each other's hair."

"Maybe you have, cupcake." Brian sits, grinning up at Bob. "I came to make sure you remember what to do on a date. I know it's been a long time."

"Fuck off," Bob says, and sneaks a look in the mirror before he shoves his wallet into his pocket and attaches the chain to his belt loop. "I know what I'm doing."

"You sure? I give good tips," Brian says, then stands, following Bob out of the room. "Seriously, you're okay?"

"I'm good," Bob says, relieved that that's actually true. He's looking forward to spending time with Gerard, and however the evening turns out, that's fine; Bob's in no hurry. Plucking his keys out of the glass bowl on the side table, he looks outside, and is surprised to see Ray's van.

"I'm going over to Ray's to work on the books." Brian stands next to Bob, both watching as Ray gets out of the van, his hair whipping in his face as he looks up and waves. "We figured we'd give you a lift to Gerard's."

"You're both nosy fuckers," Bob says, secretly glad of the ride.

~~~~

Squashed between the door and Brian, Bob listens to the conversation that flows around him, glad they're not expecting him to take part. It's only when they stop that Ray looks past Brian and says, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"That doesn't leave much," Brian laughs, and he elbows Bob hard in the side. "Go, get out Romeo."

Bob goes, flipping Brian off before heading up the side of the house toward the kitchen door. When he gets there he sees it's open, and when he steps inside he finds Mikey mopping the floor, looking disgruntled as Frank sits on the counter and directs.

"Bob, hi." Frank points to a corner of the kitchen. "You've missed a bit." He grins and holds up his hands when Mikey points the soapy mop in his direction. "It wasn't me that spilt juice on the floor."

Mikey half-heartedly pushes the mop over a splash of red juice. "If you hadn't surprised me like that I wouldn't have dropped it."

"But you looked so delicious standing there, I had to taste."

Mikey props the mop against the sink and turns, arms crossed over his chest. "You bit my ass. That's not right."

"You're both not right," Bob says, and carefully walks over the wet floor. "Where's Gerard?"

"In the basement," Mikey leans against the counter, looking worried. "He's been sleeping a lot today, I don't. I mean, he might not..."

"It's okay," Bob interrupts, and while he knows he doesn't have to explain his potential relationship to Mikey, he's going to anyway. "I won't push him, Mikey. I never will. Not unless he needs it."

Mikey looks at Bob a long moment, says eventually, "I believe you."

Which Bob knows is his vote of approval, and he nods, giving his own thanks as he goes down the stairs. Past the laundry heap that continuously seems to keep growing and into the main part of the room, where Gerard's sitting on his bed, his head in his hands. He's changed clothes, wearing black jeans still but his shirt is patterned with tiny white skulls and he's made an effort to brush his hair, except at the back where tufts at sticking out at right angles to his head. He looks great, and Bob knows they're going nowhere tonight.

"Bad day?" Bob walks close and sits down, reaching behind him when he hears something crinkle. Pulling out a comic he sets it on the floor then looks at Gerard, who still hasn't moved. "Gerard?"

"This is what I meant," Gerard says, his voice muffled. "You're here, and I tried and I can't. Not today. You came here for nothing."

"Not for nothing." Bob moves closer and rests his hand on Gerard's knee. "This date was about seeing you, and I am."

"Because everyone wants a date in a basement," Gerard says, looking miserable.

"It works for me," Bob says, and he shuffles back, urging Gerard to follow so they're sitting side by side, resting against the wall. Bob kicks off his shoes and digs his feet into the covers. "What happened today?"

Gerard slumps to the side, his head on Bob's shoulder. "Nothing special. Mikey called the Social Security Administration about the disability claim, they said they'd be in touch soon but I'm not holding my breath. Then he went to work and I napped. In the afternoon I took my meds and watched TV before getting changed. Exciting, yeah."

Bob worms his hand around Gerard's back, holding him close. "I was on lawn duty today. Five of them, two with stripes. By the time I was done I looked like a grassy Incredible Hulk."

"You've the muscles for it," Gerard says, running his fingers along the muscles of Bob's arm. When he reaches Bob's hand he stops, fingertips over the scars. "I don't understand why you're here."

"Why shouldn't I be?" Bob asks.

"Because I'm fucked in the head," Gerard says, looking away from Bob. "I've got nothing to give you."

Bob turns his head, and Gerard's so close. Eyes dark and pale skin, his mouth curled down. All Bob wants to do is touch, but not yet, not until he tries to get Gerard to understand. "A wise man once told me we're all fucked in the head, and you give me plenty."

"Yeah," Gerard says dubiously. "Like what?"

"Like this." Bob cradles his hand around Gerard's chin and cheek, holding him still like the most delicate flower. Bob's heart is racing as he moves even closer, fitting their mouths together and it's been so long since he did this, the year he's been here and then time before, when he was sorting out his own head. It's like he's rediscovering kissing all over again, the pressure of someone's lips against his own, the feel of skin and hard muscle under his hands, and all he can think is _Gerard_.

Bob sighs when Gerard slides his tongue into Bob's mouth, hesitant at first, as if unsure if he's allowed, but when Bob responds by touching Gerard's tongue with his own, Gerard becomes bolder, and he nips Bob's bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently before pulling away.

Bob slides his thumb down to Gerard's mouth, touching the corner. "Like that."

"I think I can give you that," Gerard says, looking serious.

Bob smiles. "I never doubted it for a second."

~*~*~*

Gerard yawns and scratches as his cheek, watching as Bob fastens his boots. He's bent over, his face concealed by his hair as he tugs at the red laces, efficiently tying a double knot.

"Want me to bring back something for dinner?" Bob says and looks up, pushing his hair out of his face. "I'll stop off at the store after work."

"Yeah, that'll be good," Gerard says, and starts to gather the breakfast dishes, putting them in the sink. It's a routine he's tried to follow for the last week, making the effort to get up and eat breakfast with Mikey and Bob -- who stayed over that first night and still hasn't gone home. Sometimes Gerard doesn't succeed, too sad to even think about crawling from under the covers, but most mornings he does and he's getting used to waking with Bob holding him close. He loves the scratch of Bob's beard against his shoulder and the way Bob sounds as he starts his day, grumbling under his breath as he presses a kiss against Gerard's cheek.

Bob pats his pocket and pulls out his phone, looking at the display. "Remember we're working late today."

"At the rose house." Gerard turns on the faucet, and adds a squirt of detergent, swishing his hand through the water to create bubbles that rapidly expand, their surface filmed with glistening colors.

"Yeah," Bob says, and he puts back his phone and opens the door, looking outside. "I need to get going."

Gerard rubs his hands on his shirt, leaving damp patches that cling to his skin. He enjoys this part of the morning, and it makes the effort of forcing himself to get up worth it as Bob steps close and curls his hands around Gerard's arms. Holding on, Bob leans in for a kiss, gentle still, but Gerard loves each touch, the jolt he feels as Bob's tongue slides against his own before he pulls back at the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside.

"I need to get going." A last quick kiss and Bob heads for the door, Gerard following. Standing in the doorway he wiggles his fingers at Brian and Ray, and smiles when Bob turns and waves before getting into the van.

Once the van pulls away, Gerard closes the door and looks around. It's still tempting to go back downstairs and sleep, he can't imagine his life without that constant pull, but today he can resist it as he finishes the dishes, stacking them on the drainer before he refills his mug with coffee. Hip pressing against the counter, he drinks it while looking outside, at the garden that's looking beautiful right now, the bedding plants spreading and crowded together in waves of brilliant color.

"Has Bob already gone?"

Gerard turns and sees Mikey hurrying downstairs, he's looking at his watch and frowning at the time, but instead of heading for the door moves close to Gerard and plucks his mug out his hand.

"There's more in the machine," Gerard says mildly. "And he left a few minutes ago."

Mikey takes a long drink and hands the mug back to Gerard. "Fuck, I'm running late."

"If you didn't take so long on your hair...."

Mikey pats at his hair, which is sticking up even more than usual this morning. "It takes time for perfection, but I need to go."

"You really do," Gerard says, looking at the clock. "Go."

"Going." Grabbing his bag, Mikey slings it over his shoulder and hurries away, waving at Gerard before he slams shut the door.

Smiling, Gerard fills his mug again.

~~~~~

The letter arrives later that morning. Nauseous, all Gerard does is drop it on the table, next to the bottle of ketchup and open notebook, a black pen lying on the join of the pages. Even if he is feeling okay today, this is too important to open alone, the end result of a fight that's been going on for too long.

Needing distraction, Gerard works in the bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the floor, paint brush in hand as he draws black-leaved vines and a unicorn with a flaming tail and mane. He's got the window pushed wide open and from where he's sitting Gerard can hear the sound of traffic and the rustle of the grasses in the garden. Sunlight streams into the room, the surfaces bleached white, and then later in the day; gold.

His legs and hand cramped, Gerard's flexing his fingers when he finally hears footsteps. Standing with a groan, he looks outside and sees Mikey outside. Setting down his brush, Gerard quickly closes the pots of paint and goes downstairs, where Mikey's walking into the kitchen, pulling the earbuds out of his ears. There's a brief burst of tinny music then Mikey turns off his iPod, wrapping around the wire before dropping it in his bag. "Hey."

"The letter from the Social Security came," Gerard says, and Mikey takes a sharp breath.

"Did you open it?"

Gerard shakes his head and his stomach aches from a day of remembering other times, the sense of crushing disappointment each time his claim was turned down. "I was waiting for you."

"Right." Mikey still hasn't moved away from the door and it's Gerard that picks up the letter, clutching it in his hand.

"I should open it," Gerard says, and all he can think is _please, please, please_, they need this money so badly. Grabbing hold of the top corner, Gerard starts to rip open the envelope, taking out the sheet of paper inside. He can see his own name, then further _pleased to tell you that _. Gerard reads again, hardly able to believe. "We're pleased to inform you...."

"It's been granted?" Mikey says, sounding shocked, and he almost runs to Gerard, crowding close and reading over his shoulder. "You've been accepted."

"I've been accepted!" Gerard yells, and the letter flutters to the ground as he grabs Mikey around the waist and spins him around. "We'll have money, you can stop working all the fucking time."

"I thought. Fuck, I thought this would never happen," Mikey says, sounding dazed, and they slow down, clinging together "We're making it, Gee. We're going to be okay."

"We are," Gerard says, and along with excitement is overwhelming relief, the kind that comes from living with uncertainty for so long. The fact being, there were times Gerard thought he wouldn't make it -- he still does at times.

"I need to tell Bob," Gerard says, and he scoops up the letter, reading it again as he looks for his phone.

Mikey pulls out his own phone and then checks his watch. "He's got a late job, Frank's there too."

"The rose lady, I remember," Gerard says, and take Mikey's phone when he hands it over. About to dial, he stops, finger over the call button, needing to tell Bob the news, but at the same time, telling over the phone just won't be the same. Swallowing, Gerard looks toward outside -- while he goes out for his therapy appointments or more recently, on the coffee non-date with Bob, it's been a long time since Gerard's gone somewhere just because he wants to. It's an urge he lost years before, but right now all he wants to do is see Bob and if that means leaving the house, that's what Gerard will do. "Do you know where the job is?"

"The general area," Mikey says, and gives Gerard a look. "Why?"

Gerard glances at the letter, pushing back the nerves when he thinks about voluntarily leaving the house. "It's a nice evening, I thought if we met them there we could celebrate somehow. Maybe call in for a coffee."

Mikey clutches Gerard's arm, his fingers digging in. "You want to go out and meet them?"

"I thought, yeah," Gerard says, and Mikey keeps holding on, looking surprised.

"You want to go out and meet them, you're sure?" Mikey says again, giving Gerard a searching look.

"I'm sure." To show that he means it, Gerard heads for the door and Mikey follows, grabbing Gerard's jacket on the way. When they step outside he hands it over and Gerard pulls it on, pushing his hands into his pockets as Mikey locks up.

"You're ready to go?" Mikey slips the key into his pocket, and when Gerard nods he smiles, says, "Let's do it."

~~~~

The walk is longer than Gerard expected and by the time they arrive Gerard's panting, his chest heavy as they look for Ray's van.

"I think. Yeah." Mikey grabs Gerard's wrist and tugs him across the road, toward a pick-up truck, complete with a trailer hitched to the back. It's parked on a grass verge, in front of a large house with a front garden full of brilliant scarlet roses. The pick-up is white and has _Ray's Gardening Service_ on the door. Gerard walks close and looks inside as he runs his fingers over the side, across the shiny paint and black letters.

"Ray got a pick-up?"

"This morning, he said it'll be more practical than a van," Mikey says, and looks at his watch. "We'll wait here, they shouldn't be long."

"We're not going to find them?" Gerard asks, head tilted to one side as he listens to the sound of a mower.

"Not while they're working." Mikey leans back against the pick-up, legs crossed at the ankle and turns his head, looking at Gerard and says conversationally, "So, you and Bob."

"Me and Bob," Gerard says in reply, enjoying the way that sounds. "I like him."

"And he likes you," Mikey says, and Gerard smiles.

"He does," Gerard says. "He's a good kisser, his lips are soft, but his stubble's sort of scratchy. It's nice."

"Oh my god, I don't need to know," Mikey says, but he's laughing as he talks, kicking at Gerard's leg."

Gerard kicks back, and his cheeks ache from grinning so hard. "I'm still going to tell you, especially as I saw Frank's ass yesterday. His _ass_, Mikey."

Mikey steps on Gerard's foot with his own, standing close. "I keep forgetting you come upstairs now. I'll tell him to wear a robe."

"It's okay," Gerard says. "It's a nice ass."

"No looking at Frank's ass," Mikey says, and tries to jab his fingers in Gerard's ribs, laughing when Gerard wiggles, then there's a shout, and Frank comes running forward, launching himself at Mikey and Gerard.

"What are you doing here?" Frank pulls Mikey into a hug and brushes a stealthy kiss against his cheek. "There's nothing wrong is there?"

Unable to stand still, Gerard pulls the letter out of his pocket, waving it in the air. "No, everything is awesome."

Pushing a lawn mower, Bob looks anxious as he leaves it close to the trailer and then looks at the letter. Slowly, he starts to smile. "They're backdating your claim. Fuck, Gerard. That's amazing."

"I know," Gerard says, and he can't stop smiling, unable to stand still as Ray hurries over, setting down an armful of tools. Behind him, Brian's carrying a bag of fertilizer over his shoulder, and he waves with his free hand.

"That's fantastic," Ray says, and he claps Gerard on the back. "We need to go have a double celebration."

"We're celebrating the new pick up?" Gerard asks, but Ray shakes his head, pointing at Brian.

"Brian's leaving me."

"You got the job?" Mikey says, and when Frank crouches and picks a daisy from the grass, Mikey dips his head while still looking at Brian, letting Frank thread the flower into his hair. "The one at Flannigans?"

"I got the fucking job," Brian says, and he punches the air. "No more fucking lawn stripes for me."

"Go you," Mikey says, and he hi-fives Brian, their hands slapping together.

"So you'll be looking for more new staff," Gerard says, and he expects Ray to look resigned, but all he looks is happy.

"Eventually," Ray says. "Frank's on vacation soon, we'll manage until then." He grins then, looking at Brian. "I'll miss my lawn stripe guy."

"If I don't see another fucking lawn stripe again it'll be too soon," Brian says, glaring at the mower. "Who the fuck...."

"Needs lawn stripes," everyone says in unison, and unable to resist, Gerard grabs hold of Bob, squeezing him tight, his face against Bob's neck, and then there's more people. Ray joining the hug, his arms around Gerard, Frank jumping on Bob's back, all bright hair and smile. Brian, next to Ray, holding tight, his hand on Gerard's shoulder. and then Mikey, squirming so he's at Gerard's side, taking his rightful place. Everyone holding on, celebrating with a group hug.

Trapped in the middle, Gerard holds on, and these are his friends, his family -- with their help he'll make it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Grey Crimson Skies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/575798) by [argentumlupine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/argentumlupine/pseuds/argentumlupine)




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